Falcon
by The Solar Surfer
Summary: What does one do when suddenly gifted with amazing powers? Become a hero? A villain? Or perhaps pretend its not real. A girl stuck in such a situation suffers the consequences when she makes the wrong choice, and begins a crusade against those who've crossed her family, and must team up with a certain red-and-blue Webhead to succeed in her quest. Some OCxEddie B./Venom. COMPLETED.
1. Chapter 1: Compliance

**Hey guys, revising the story, starting from square one. I feel that this is a much better start tothe story. It's going to run a little differently than the last time, but hopefully this works out better. We also won't see any fight sequences for a few chapters, so just hang in there. We need to give heroes time to get their powers. **

**I'm also welcome to suggestions and ideas, if you're the kind of reader who likes to do that. So feel free to write them in the review section or in private messages.**

**Anyways, hope you like it! Read and review!**

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**Chapter One**

**Compliance**

I stumbled over my own feet in my rush to get out of the rain. It was cold and windy, unusual for early September, the time of the season that only showed the symptoms of summer. Either way, I wrapped my poorly-chosen cotton sweater closer to my body, making my way to the bus stop.

There were only a few others waiting there. A woman with her baby, a college student reading a textbook on advanced bio-engineering, and a trio of suit-clad men in dark shades, murmuring softly to one another. They could have been security guards, secret agents, or actors late for rehearsal. Broadway was only a few streets down.

I hunched under the fiberglass canopy, away from the others. Being surrounded by strangers made me nervous, especially ones who looked like bad guys from a James Bond movie. No one paid any mind to the skin-soaked girl with long, wet straggly hair that frizzed up at the mere mention of water. I pulled up my hood to draw less attention to myself. Or my hair.

I had been spending time at the library. Most of the day, really. Some of it reading ahead for school, the rest job searching online. Even though I was in the middle of New York City, the busiest place in the world, I couldn't find a single place that would hire a high school Junior who's almost on the honor roll.

I say 'almost' because I'm too scared to try. My cousin, who's not so ashamed of his nerdiness, is on his way to valedictorian next year. He's already been accepted to the National Honors Society, and a total favorite amongst the science teachers at Midtown. I'd say I'm jealous, but the only reason I'm not beside him is my own fault, so I had little to complain about.

The bus was pulling in, about 300 yards away. It was trying to maneuver its way around some very rude taxi cabs, in them either filled with pestering passengers or drivers hostile to anyone else who owned a driver's license. I hoped it got here soon. My shoes were soaked through. They made _Squish-squish_ noises every time I moved.

We lined up single file as we got on the bus. I sat by myself in one of the rows while two of the suit-clad men sat behind me. I hadn't realized until now that they were speaking in another language. I couldn't tell if it was Spanish or Italian. A part of me wished I understood, because right now I could use a distraction.

I had a small knapsack with me, filled with some of the books I borrowed from the library. Some of it was Shakespeare (for school, not recreation – Old English gave me a headache), others about physics and stuff like that. I knew Newton's Three Laws of Motion by heart, as well as all the simple machines. Physics was the kind of stuff that made my brain happy.

Behind me, the two men's voices rose, anger beginning to tinge their words. I listened absentmindedly as the argument escalated, even when the third guy on the other side of the row reached across the aisle to manhandle one of them. Something thumped against the back of my seat, a leg perhaps.

I glanced behind me, annoyed. The men were fighting over a small vial of juice or something (grey in color, translucent and bubbly), shouting at each other in a foreign language. The man in the other row had completely left his seat now and was leaning over the other two, hanging on to the bar on the ceiling as he tried to wrestle the vial from their grips.

There was no way I was getting involved in a fight with three men who were triple my size, but the bus driver wasn't as complacent about the situation. He snapped at the three men to quit it and sit back in their seats, or he'd stop the bus.

Well, they didn't stop fighting. So the bus driver slammed on the breaks.

There's a thing about buses not having seatbelts. I don't know why, but I was beginning to think there should be a change in that law, because as the men behind me slammed into my seat, sending _me_ into the one in front of me, I wasn't feeling so hot. Things got even worse when the vial, whatever it was, flew out of their hands and slammed into the back of my neck. The glass shattered upon impact, cutting my skin.

I gasped as a sharp pain went up and down my spine. My hand flew to my neck, fingers connecting with the strange grey liquid, which flowed over my skin like quicksilver, mixing with the blood from my new wounds. They didn't feel deep, which was a relief. I didn't really want to know what it was like to get stitches.

The men cried out simoultaneously as the vial smashed. Its remnants covered my sweater, glass shards spilling over the chair, some with my blood on it. I winced, brushing them away from me, careful not to cut my hands.

By then the bus driver had jumped up from his seat to yell at the suit-clad trio, his face looking as angry as each and every one of the drivers he was backing up in the five o'clock rush hour. The three men separated themselves, trying to get a word in edgewise, some pointing at me and at each other, as if they didn't know who to give attention to. A woman in a dark coat leaned over from the next seat over, to see if I was okay.

The whole thing was settled within the next ten minutes. The woman in the black coat was a nurse, and confirmed that my wounds were non-fatal and didn't require serious medical care – and whatever that liquid was hadn't been toxic, so I hadn't been inadvertently poisoned, either. The bus driver forced the men off of the bus. Each of them stared at me as they left, standing dumb-founded on the street as they watched the bus drive away.

The nurse had a first-aid kit with her and cleaned up the back of my neck, applied some anti-bacterial stuff before taping on a gauze strip. She said I'd be fine, although some pain killers wouldn't do me any harm if it started to hurt.

As the bus continued on its journey, I glanced down at the shards of glass. There were white patches on some of them, indicating words. Carefully, I picked them back up and placed pieces of them together. Some of them were lost, but it wasn't difficult to figure out what they said.

SYNDICON

Syndicon? What the heck was that? The words sounded vaguely familiar, but I couldn't place where I had heard them before. Was it a company? A label? Or a type of chemical solution? All I knew was that it hurt when you poured it on open wounds.

I returned home in one piece that night. Me and my mom lived in Lower East Side, in a small apartment on the top floor of a tenement. The elevator hadn't worked since it was first built a million years ago, so I had to take the stairs. Our place had two bedrooms just big enough to fit a bed, desk, and clothes in a cramped closet; a tiny living room with windows that overlooked the street below; a kitchen with a working faucet and decent fridge; and a single bathroom with no lock. Mom was in the kitchen, as usual, testing out a new cake recipe.

"Amy!" she called from beyond the doorway. The smell of cake batter and sweet icing was in the air. Chocolate, perhaps, although with Mom you could never be sure. She liked to mix things up from time to time. "Come taste this!"

"Coming!" I yelled back, tossing my pack onto the worn couch that Mom had since the Eighties. The color used to be a bright blue with pink and orange flowers, but now the blue was more teal and the pinks and oranges had faded to a variation of browns. I went into the kitchen – a mess of bowls and pans and spices, in every inch of space except the cabinets and drawers they belonged in. Mom had flour dust up to her elbows, and constantly wiping her face had left white patches across her cheeks. She brushed her hands off the flowery apron Gram gave her. My mom put her all into cooking, and it exhausted her, but right now I never seen her happier as she put the finishing touches on a white-and-green cake with little icing flowers on it.

"My masterpiece!" Mom declared, flourishing with her arms. She beamed at me, clearly proud that she had to ruin the entire kitchen to make this beauty. "What do you think? It's a mint-and-chocolate ice cream cake, with soft snickerdoodle in the middle."

"Wow," I said, unable to take my eyes off of the cake. Suddenly, the mess in the kitchen that I knew I would end up cleaning didn't sound so bad anymore. I loved snickerdoodle. "Mom, this is genius."

"Oh, I know you'd love it!" She enveloped me in a huge hug, using enough force that a puff of flower blew over our heads. Mom wiggled in the hug. "Took me two days and five hours to perfect the recipe. Oh, that restaurant three blocks down is going to love this! But you're my official taste-tester, so you get to have the first slice."

"Yes!" I grinned. Cake totally made up for the fact that the flour from Mom's hands had mixed with the rainwater on my back, and was now forming a doughy substance that made my skin crawl.

The thing about Mom being a hobbyist chef is that I never had the same meal twice. We also ate at weird hours of the day. Sometimes I had dinner at 4:30, when I started my homework; others at 9:00, right before I went to bed. It always varied whenever Mom finished cooking or baking or frying whatever she wanted to make that day. Breakfast had to be normal, though, because she couldn't focus her 'culinary energies' on too many projects, or so she'd say. That was fine, because it meant I didn't feel too bad if my homemade lunch got stolen by some jerks at school. I knew I wouldn't be missing any of the good stuff.

It also meant I got to eat cake for supper. That was _always_ something I could agree with.

As I ate at the table, Mom took a brush through my hair, untangling the knots the rain had brought on. I winced each time she yanked on a particularly tough one, but the cake quickly distracted me. It was like tasting a bit of heaven.

Mom's finger brushed against the back of my neck, against the gauze. I winced, the cuts still painful. Unfortunately, this didn't help me from getting out from under her gaze. "What's this? Amy, did you hurt yourself?"

"No, Mom," I pulled away before she could pull off the gauze to inspect the wound. It hurt just her touching the top. "It's fine. There was a fight on the bus on the way home. Some guys and some glass. It's nothing serious. A nurse there said so. I'm fine."

I'd love to say that my mom's worry for me was unreasonable and unnecessary, but that wouldn't be true. I wasn't exactly intimidating, considering I barely reached average height, was terrified of confrontations, and anyone who weighed more than a pound of muscle than me could easily take me down if they wanted to.

My mom thought my lack of confidence was because she didn't put me through any sports when I was younger, although it was hardly her fault. We just didn't have the money to afford the gear required for any of them. I didn't know if she was right or not, but I quickly learned reading about aerodynamics was a lot easier than learning how to hit a ball with a wooden stick and make it to first base in one go. Not only did I have crap depth perception and bad timing, but my muscle definition was next to nothing.

Trust me. Peter, my cousin who I've known my whole life (we went to school together, from pre-K to…now, I guess), had a better chance of getting on the football team, and the quarterback was, like, his archenemy.

She also blames me not having any paternal support meant I didn't have a single aggressive gene in my body. No ambition, no bravery, no risk-taking. I wanted to tell Mom she was selling herself short, but she'd just wave her hands in the air and turn back to the stove. It wasn't worth trying to argue when I knew I would lose.

"Are you sure?" she asked, leaning over my shoulder to peer into my face. Her hair had been pulled back into a ponytail, but two days and five hours of work had pieces of it hanging out. A strand fell into her eye, and she tossed her head to get it out of the way. "Maybe I should call the doctor, just to be safe."

"I'm not a porcelain doll, Mom," I said, rolling my eyes. "Please, don't do that. The nurse gave me her card, see?" I withdrew it from my pocket. It was a little soggy, but you could still read the printed words. "She said to call her if any weird side effects came up. She works at the hospital and has a degree in bio-genetics. At least, that's what she told me."

Mom plucked the card from my fingers, reading the words on the paper. "'Mary Winters, Nurse – School of Medicine and Bio-Genetics.' What kind of school is that? How do I know she's safe to trust? Her number isn't even in the city region!"

"Chill out, please," I said, taking back the card before Mom could report it as evidence to a crime that I didn't think was worth spending time on. "Just forget it, okay? I don't want to make a big deal out of this."

She sighed, letting it go. But before she turned to dump dirty dishes into the sink, Mom turned to me and waved a finger, "You know, Amy, you can't avoid all of your problems. Some aren't just going to go away if you ignore them long enough. It's why you're homework doesn't disappear magically when you leave it in your backpack. Speaking of which, have you done any of it, yet?"

"Yes, Mom," I replied, finishing off the plate before getting up and placing it in the sink alongside everything else. I was glad the topic had deviated from the bus incident. "I spent the whole day at the library. _Plenty_ of time to get my work done."

"All right," Mom said, turning to me with hands on her hips. "Show me your knowledge of Shakespeare, then."

"_Mom_…" I groaned.

"Go on."

I gave her a pleading look, really wishing she didn't have to put me on the spot like this. To be honest, I skimmed the plays. I read the Spark-notes version to get the subtext that I had no idea was there. "Like…_Macbeth_? Or _Julius Caesar_?"

"And _Romeo and Juliet_. I'd like a synopsis, please."

"They all die. The end."

Mom narrowed her eyes, her lips screwing up like she tasted a bad piece of lemon in her meringue pie. "Try it again, perhaps with a little more effort."

"Mom, I'm an efficient worker. They're all tragedies. I hate tragedies. Why read a book when you know the good guys die at the end? It just ruins the suspense. I like happy endings."

"I do, too, Amy. But that's no excuse to skimp on your homework. How about you do a little review back in your room? Then you can tell me the finer points of Shakespeare's work."

"Can I just play with my Newton's cradle instead?" I asked, giving her a weak smile as if that would convince her English wasn't worth studying for.

"_Amy._" Mom warned with a single word that got me beating down the hall in a second.

"All right, all right, I'll do it." I murmured under my breath as I entered my room. Having taken my bag back, I dumped its contents onto my bed. Shakespeare's plays were the smallest among the books. They wouldn't really take that long to read, honestly. Still, he could write a tragedy about a teenage girl committing suicide in a passionate rage after reading a horrible book. I'd bet it get rave reviews. "I hate you, Shakespeare."

I went to bed that night with a stomach full of delicious cake and a head full of 'thee's' and 'thou's' and a bunch of other words that haven't been used in over a hundred years. I couldn't stop thinking about how much of an idiot Caesar was for just standing there while his Senate prepared to stick him.

Least to say, I had a tough time sleeping that night. I tossed and turned, the sheets too warm but the air too cold. I was aware that I was sweating, but I didn't want to get out of bed, stepping on creaky floors and waking up Mom, who would only be convinced something was wrong once she saw the state I was in.

_It's just a fever_, I told myself at around 4:00 AM in the morning. _From the rain. It was freezing out there. That's why you feel sick. Rain has…pathogens in it. From the smog the city makes. Yeah, that makes sense._

I managed to convince myself, but it didn't help me sleep any easier. I eventually opened the window in my room, but only earned a bunch of leaves blown in my face. I shut the window and returned back to bed, hoping to catch at least the last two hours of night I could in sleep.

That morning, I wanted to die.

Mom came in my room after calling my name half a dozen times and not getting the appropriate response of me scrambling down the stairs to get breakfast and make the daily race to the bus stop, a race I rarely won. She pressed a hand to my forehead and told me it was hot enough to bake pancakes on, her standard description of being too sick to go to school. Sometimes it's worse, like when I had the flu and Mom thought she could boil water with the heat I was generating.

"You're staying home today, girl," Mom tisked, hands on her hips. She was dressed for work, a part time job in a diner near the fishing district of town. The only reason she wasn't actually cooking for these places was because she never finished culinary school. I knew she wanted to. I mean, she was only a few credits shy of earning her diploma. But we hardly had the money to spare. Mom always said she'd take online classes, but I had no idea if she was joking or not. Neither of us saw each other long enough to find out.

Mom glanced at her watch. "Oh, boy, I'm already late for work. I guess it runs in the family. You're staying in bed. There's leftover soup in the fridge if you get hungry. Remember, no spicy foods, no milk, no sweets. Don't answer the door, unless it's Charlie. In that case, tell him I'll pay the rent by Saturday. It's not the truth, but it gets him off my back long enough to _make_ it the truth."

The way Mom said it like that, I just knew Charlie would get paid on time. Charlie was our landlord. He was born sometime in the 1700's, so didn't climb the stairs too often. His arthritis was a life saver, really. It kept Charlie from pestering about rent when we didn't have the money, and usually by the time he remembered phones had been invented, Charlie already had the money in his hands. Charlie was a nice guy, really.

I'm probably just saying that because I don't know him well enough to hate him. I couldn't tell his last name if someone asked. Did Charlie even _have_ a last name? For all my life, ever since I was a toddler and realized that the noises I made with my mouth were words and not bubbles, Charlie had always just been _Charlie_.

"Yep," I said, but it came out like a croak. It hurt to look at anything. Not only was the sun burning my eyes, but it really felt like I had taken acid to the face and my eyeballs were trying to pop out or something. I kept rubbing my eyes, like that would get rid of whatever was bothering me. It didn't. "I'll just sleep. Don't worry."

Mom sighed. "I always do."

She left with a quick goodbye, the door slamming behind her. The entire apartment fell into silence. For some reason, as soon as I shut my eyes and blocked the bright sunlight streaming in through my windows, I fell promptly asleep. Of course, sleeping at night was impossible, but as soon as the sun came out, I was dead to the world. Go figure.

OoOoO

"Tell me again," he said, his voice dangerously soft. "Exactly _how_ did you lose the serum?"

The three suit-clad men stood ramrod straight in front of the old mahogany desk, each too afraid to speak. The room was darkly lit, the air musky and warm, and the leather seats looking incredibly comfortable as they waited for their boss to decide their fate. The man himself was in the high-backed armchair, peering at them over steepled fingers.

The man had to be at least fifty, but years of work made him appear older. His thinning brown hair was beginning to gray at the temple. He was always clean-shaven, and one of the men couldn't help but stare at a scar that traced from his ear down to his throat. The man looked at each of them in turn before finally saying, "You've disappointed me, boys. Half a million, down the drain. I've never lost that much in a poker game. How am I going to explain to my client that my men _lost_ his package on a _bus_? Because they had a little argument with each other? You think that's going to be good for business?"

"The girl," one of them blurted, earning terrified looks from the other two. He paused, raising a finger, and continued in a trembling voice, "The girl…it splashed on her. All of it. Nothing was left. But she was fine."

"You think I care about a nobody? She's not important," their boss snapped, almost forcing the three of them to take a step back. But that would be a bad move. "I can't let an affront like this go unpunished, boys. People don't respect you if you aren't a threat. I'm sure you understand."

"What?" they yelped in unison, turning around in surprise as they heard a click behind them. They had no time to react for what was coming for them.

_Thunk. Thunk. Thunk._

One by one they collapsed to the ground. The acrid stench of gunpowder filled the room.

The man wrinkled his nose in disgust, glancing down at the lifeless bodies at the foot of his desk. He looked up at the man with the smoking gun, his face hidden in shadow. "Cut off all business with OSCORP. He won't be buying any more after this failure. And clean up this mess. I have a meeting in ten minutes."


	2. Chapter 2: Conformity

**I realized I like giving names to chapters. It gives the story a bit of flair. Anyways, enjoy :)**

**Read and Review!**

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**Chapter Two**

**Conformity**

I woke up later that day feeling sore and itchy. Mom hadn't come home yet, and by the numbers on my clock, school was over now. My bones aching, I pulled myself out of bed and wobbled on my feet, leaning on the bed frame for support.

Ugh, this fever was way more serious than I thought it was. I could barely keep my legs from shaking as I stumbled up to the mirror, turning around to look at the cut on the back of my neck. The skin on my back felt as though it were on fire. I pulled up my shirt to see what had happened, and winced at the sight.

Angry red welts and hives covered my back where the grey liquid had touched my skin. The only thing I could describe it as was getting your skin stained by bleach, but this both looked and felt way worse. It was as though I had suddenly caught smallpox, a disease that was impossible to get sick with nowadays. I wanted to scratch at it so much, but clothing had already made it bad enough.

The cuts under the gauze hurt even worse, but I was too afraid to take it off. I pulled back my hair, just to peek anyways.

Whoa.

The entire back of my neck had turned red, mottled. The weird thing was, it didn't feel like just a bad skin condition, but something… deeper. _A lot_ deeper.

I decided to take a bath. A bubble bath, in particular. Soap to clean whatever the hell I got on my back. I didn't actually know how to treat this stuff, but water and soap seemed like a good idea.

The warm water soothed my skin. A part of me wanted to just take a nap, but common sense told me I should wait until I got back to bed or the couch to watch TV. I kept rubbing at my eyes, which still felt irritated. I was glad there wasn't a window in here to get me with more sunlight. The darkness felt good as well.

I scrubbed at the welts, wincing each time I got a particularly sensitive spot. It was even worse on my shoulders, which protested each time I moved my arms. Ugh, this sucked. This better not be lethal.

How was I going to explain this to Mom? If she saw how bad it had gotten, there was no way I was wiggling out of a doctor's appointment.

Afterwards, I got into my softest pajamas and camped out on the couch, eating soup as I watched old Sitcoms. Mom didn't get home until around 8, and by then I was half-asleep. I made sure to cover the welts with my hair, the parts that showed past my pajamas. Mom didn't notice as she kissed the top of my forehead and made a salad for herself, something she did after a long day's work.

I fell asleep much better on the couch that night. I hadn't even read the Shakespeare plays yet, but Mom didn't ask me – either out of sympathy or her own exhaustion, it didn't really matter. I was too tired to understand normal English anyways.

The next morning I didn't feel much better, but Mom declared that my temperature was down to normal, so that meant I was A-okay to go. I tried to complain, but Mom wasn't going to let me miss any more school work. Last time I got sick, I couldn't catch up in time to get my grade higher for the report card.

Mom woke me up early enough to catch the school bus, although that didn't make me any more excited. It was raining once more as I waited outside for the bus to show up, but this time I had planned ahead and brought a rain jacket. My bag, however, wasn't as water proof. I had to hug it to my chest to keep my books from getting wet.

The bus ride to school was torture. It was loud and noisy. Apparently the school bus driver was a lot more tolerant of chaos than the transit I took two days ago. People threw food around, shouted and sang to the radio you couldn't even hear, and I sat low in my seat to avoid attention to myself.

I didn't meet anyone I know until I was at school: Midtown Madness Magnet High (M3). Students milled about in the front courtyard. Most liked to sit around the fountain, enjoying the sun as it streamed though the archway. I looked around for a familiar face.

In one corner, near some picnic tables, I spotted Astor Sloane. Just the sight of her made me twitch nervously. She was laughing alongside the rest of the field hockey squad, her perfectly straight caramel hair glistening in the sun. Self-conscious, I raised a hand to my own head. My hair wasn't curly or particularly messy; I just never had time to do anything with it in the morning. Still, Astor's hair made me a little jealous.

"Where have you been?" said a voice behind me.

I turned around, taking my eyes off of Astor onto someone I found much more pleasant to be around. "Ah, hi, Gwen. Yeah, uh, I've been sick. Some weird flu or something."

"Oh, wow," Gwen took a step back from me, adjusting the glasses across her face. "I hope it's not contagious. Your eyes are really red, you know."

"Yeah, I noticed this morning in the mirror." I said, wiping at my eyes once more. I'd love to say that the sickness, rash, and eye irritation were completely unrelated to each other, but I doubted it. On the other hand, I didn't understand how a simple grey liquid could do all of that. "It totally sucks, but at least I can still see."

"Yep. Your life sucks," she said matter-of-factly, turning towards the front doors. I followed beside her. Gwen was the kind of girl who was too nice to insult me – but she wasn't afraid of testing me, either. "You read the plays, didn't you? All three of them?"

"Yeah!" I said, offended that she'd think I didn't do it. I don't know; it probably wasn't completely out of the ordinary for me not to do homework I didn't like. "I mean, well…two and a half."

"_Amy_." Gwen began, but I cut her off before she could chide me. "Hey, I did all the worksheets! I just got some extra help online. I'm just worried about the stuff I have to catch up with."

"Oh, I got that covered," Gwen reached into her backpack and pulled out a packet of papers, handing them to me. "We have a test on them in two days – this is the stuff you missed. I got it for you because I didn't want you to _'forget'_ –" she made air quotations with her fingers, giving me the Look "– like you did the last time you were sick. You almost failed that time."

"Don't remind me," I said, looking over the packet. It was an extension of the stuff I did last night, mostly multiple choice, some word choice stuff, and short-answer questions. I hated those. Trying to explain your own opinion was hard, and to do it in only a couple sentences? I wasn't _that_ good. "Anything else I missed?"

"Besides school drama?" Gwen rolled her eyes. "Not really. I figured you'd have your Physics homework down. And Mr. Davis wasn't here for math class, so we didn't get any homework. Amy, you really need to take Biology class sometime. They won't let you pass without it."

"I'll talk to my advisor about it," I told her as we went down the halls to our first class. I didn't know if I _would_ talk to my advisor or not. It was still not too late to change classes and not get an automatic fail for anything I dropped. I just really didn't like talking to my advisor, Miss Evans, who was about three hundred years old with a weird obsession for puffer-fish and sting rays. She scared me. "I can change it with my English class."

"Oh, ha-ha, Amy. I'm pretty sure you can't do that, either. Nice try, though."

"Oh, well," I pretended that I was disappointed while struggling with my growing headache. Usually, my head started to hurt if I was dizzy or got smacked with a dodge ball too many times. But this popped out of nowhere. Probably another part of my cold that I hadn't experienced yet. "I can dream, can't I?"

"Keep dreaming, then," Gwen told me. We entered our classroom – Anatomy, as proven by the skeletons and diagrams of organs and hands – and sat down. She sat in front of me, but turned around in her seat. While her back had been turned, I reached up to massage my head, but brought back down again and pretended nothing was wrong when she said, "So, you just want to keep talking about school stuff that always makes you uncomfortable, or the drama stuff that's got everyone interested instead?"

"Uh…" I smiled weakly. Gwen could read my like an open book. "The last one. Please."

She shook her head like she expected this from me, but didn't give me a hard time about it. I personally really needed to hear about stupid drama, because it was the only thing to distract me from the headache. "All right. Well, to start things off, Astor threw a fit the other day when she got paired up with Belle Hayden…"

My mind drifted. I couldn't help myself, I just zoned out. I wasn't daydreaming, I was pretty sure – it was just blankness. I even forgot about my headache. Time didn't have meaning. Class may have even started and I'd have no idea.

By then I should have known something was wrong.

It became evident when I woke up in the nurse's office, lying on the mattress beside her desk. There was no one in the room, but I knew there were people outside. It was almost like a second sense to me when I realized that, but then I figured out it wasn't so supernatural. The faces peering in the window kind of gave it away.

That headache had returned, even worse than ever. It's called a migraine, right? Light and sound was piercing and sharp, making me wince away, back into the darkness. Ugh, why wouldn't they just shut up? I wasn't a sideshow freak; no matter how many times Astor said so.

I was also freezing cold. Did the nurse always turn on the AC this high? It wasn't even that hot outside!

"Oh, good, you're awake," the nurse appeared out of the bathroom connected to her office. She dried her hands with a cloth before putting on some latex gloves. She wore pink scrubs with rainbows on them, opposite the way I would describe how I was feeling. The nurse had to be new, because I hadn't seen her before, and I was well acquainted with the old one, a retiree from the local hospital, Ms. Miller. The name tag on this new nurse, with blond hair pulled back in a pony tail, read: KATHRYN JAMES_. _The words floated in front of me, blurred and messed up. I had difficulty reading them and had to turn away before I started feeling sick again.

Kathryn James kneeled down on the floor next to me, slowly nudging me back over so she could examine me. "I was so afraid I'd have to call the hospital. I thought you had a concussion. If you didn't wake up, we'd have to get real doctors to check on you. I mean, not that I'm not a real doctor," Kathryn spoke fast, laughing nervously at herself. "I mean, of course I'm a doctor. I mean, they don't _call_ me a doctor, but I – I've got a medical degree, so don't worry. I mean, you should worry, because, like, you fainted in the middle of class, right? I guess you could worry about that. But not about me, okay? You can trust me."

Right now, I wanted her to stop talking, but saying 'shut up' was not only kind of rude to the only person with a medical degree in the school; I also neither had the guts nor the stomach to do anything crazy like talking at the moment.

"Have you been sick?" Kathryn asked, peering into my eyes with a light. I blinked, turning my head away. Was she trying to fry them out of my head? "You're eyes…they're really red. Maybe they're infected…"

You should get a load of my back. _That_ is infected.

She got up and looked through a cabinet of pills and solutions, withdraw a tiny bottle. She uncapped it and turned back to me. "Lean back your head. This will help clear your eyes. You'll be sensitive to light for a while, so maybe investing in a pair of sunglasses is a good idea."

Well, my eyes were already screwed up anyways, so there wasn't much of a point in complaining. And it was overcast today, after the rain. I wanted to tell her to turn up the heat, but I still felt sick. She seemed to notice my shivering. "It's all right. You're just in shock. That's completely normal. I mean, I'm pretty sure. It'll be all right within a couple of hours."

Yeah, because everything that's been happening to me so far is completely normal, too.

I blinked away the solution. It stung my eyes and then all the light sources in the room became a lot brighter. Was that supposed to dilate my pupil or something? I wasn't sure how this was supposed to help.

"There you go," Kathryn smiled, helping me up. I was still cold, but not so much sick anymore. And the headache was still there, no thanks to whatever she put in my eyes. She opened the door to the office, where the students had left for class. "Either you can go back to class or you can go back home, if you're not up to it."

I heard a snicker behind a wall of lockers. I turned in its direction, but I couldn't see anyone. I recognized it easily enough, though – I knew that voice anywhere.

I made a face. Astor knew exactly what was going on, and as soon as I got within arm length she'd start taunting and teasing about my sudden fainting fit and weird sickness. She'd call out the strangeness of my sick day and make fun of my red eyes. Going home after that mess of a class would only earn me more trouble.

"No, I'll be fine," I mumbled, heading down the hall, preparing myself for the worst. At least my lunch was still in with Gwen and my backpack, so Astor couldn't try to take my stuff. That answer mollified Kathryn and she let me go.

I passed the place where I knew Astor was hiding. Skipping class wasn't unusual for her, especially if it gave her a chance to torture me unsupervised.

"Well, Freak," came her drawl. I stopped in my tracks, holding back a sigh of resignation, turning to look at her. Astor was leaning against the back of the locker wall, surprisingly alone. She usually did this stuff in a group, surrounded by the rest of the field hockey squad. "I knew you were stupid, but I didn't think school was so hard for you, you'd pass out from the sheer difficulty."

"I'm not stupid." I said, but it was a vain attempt to defend myself. I only got the worst of Astor's harassment when I proved myself smarter than her. That usually just meant a better score than her on a test, or raising my hand in class. It's perhaps the one thing she can't beat me at, since not only is she prettier, stronger, and has tons of more friends, but also has a job, thanks to what she called "natural charisma." I called it using her parents (who owned a hardware store) for money.

"Sure, you're not," she got up and sauntered over to me. Astor Sloane liked to pace around her victims, a vulture where I was a piece of carrion. She rapped her knuckles across her skull, "But when I do this, I just hear empty noise."

I edged away from her touch, trying to edge past her, but Astor just stuck out an arm and hauled me back. Did I mention she was strong? And that she has three older brothers in the National Guard? Toughness runs in the family. Astor wasn't afraid to prove it. She pushed me against the wall, "Where you going, Freak? Did I say I was done with you?"

In the distance, I heard footsteps. Loud ones. "Someone's coming. A teacher."

Astor looked around, bewildered. If there was one thing she was afraid of, it was authority figures. Especially her coach, the only person in the world who was allowed to be tough on her. "What? Where?"

I frowned. I could still hear the footsteps, but no one was coming down the hall. No one came around the corner to see Astor harassing me. I had no idea what was going on, but with Astor distracted, I ducked out from underneath the arm she planted on the lockers beside my head and ran like my shoes were on fire.

"Hey!" she cried, but I had already turned the corner.

I didn't find the teacher I heard until I entered the staircase. The school was about five floors high (about 4000 students went to our school), and coming down the stairs I saw her. She had to be at least fifty feet up, even farther from where I first heard her. I glanced back down the hall. How could I have heard her from so far away? Even the acoustics of the stairwell shouldn't have allowed me to hear that.

I didn't think on it for too long. If I didn't move now, either Astor would catch up with me or the teacher coming down would see me skipping class. So I headed down the way I was supposed to go and darted into my classroom. It was loud, full of activity with kids laughing and goofing around (Anatomy wasn't a popular subject to pay attention to), so my arrival went generally unnoticed.

I sat back in my seat behind Gwen, who turned around and immediately said, "Holy crap, Amy. Why didn't you go home?"

"And have Astor make fun of me?" I asked, wincing as my headache mixed badly with all the sounds and lights. "I just ran into her in the hallway. She had been waiting for me to get out. It would have been worse if I gave her more bait to chew with."

Gwen made a face but seemed to concur with the point. "Fine, whatever. But did you at least stick up for yourself? She isn't going to go away by pretending she doesn't exist."

"Works so far, doesn't it?" I retorted. There were instructions on the board of what to do, but just trying to read the words gave me pain. "I mean, calling attention to myself just seems like a bad idea in general. Fainting in class isn't really helping."

"Speaking of which, what was that about?" Gwen peered at me over her glasses. "You said you were fine, and I know Anatomy class has never bothered you before. So, I think you're lying. Maybe you should go home."

"And maybe I'd want to make a laughing stock of myself," I muttered under my breath as the bell rang. It felt like someone put my head in a blender. I couldn't think straight and I almost fell out of my chair trying to get out. Ugh, make it stop…

I managed to get to my locker once the bell stopped. The slamming of lockers echoed all the way up and down those halls. I could hear every single one of them, define where they were coming from. Even through the chaos of students rushing through the halls, banging into me and knocking my stuff over, even as I bent to pick it up.

"Here, I'll help," a hand gave me a book that had fallen out of reach. I smiled as I cleaned up the rest of the books, standing up and stuffing about half of them in my locker. "The halls being unkind again, Amy?"

"Thanks, Harry," I said, giving him a smile. I picked out my Psych textbook and corresponding binder. I was kind of curious as to why he was here. "Don't you have Ancient History next? That's on the other end of the school."

Harry was more of Peter's friend than mine, but by way of blood ties he talked to me as well. We didn't have too many classes together (Calculus and gym, because I failed it last year) and I didn't know him very well, but we hung out often enough and he was nice. I mean, we were friends in the sense that we had similar interests and connections via Peter, but really…it wasn't like me and Gwen. There are only some things you can do with your _best_ friend.

"I'm taking the scenic route." Harry replied, as though walking an extra mile and half (well, it felt that way in this school) just to talk to a girl who's failing three and a half of her classes was totally no big deal. "You weren't here yesterday. Is everything all right?"

"You are one of three people who've asked me that so far," I told him, closing my locker door. Gently, because any noise that I wasn't concentrating on (like people I'm talking to) just added pain to my headache. "And one of them tried to beat me up."

"Astor's at it again, huh?" Harry looked a lot like his dad, even though the only reference I had were pictures and TV news. Same curly red hair, same high cheekbones, same super-skinniness. Only Mr. Norman Osborn had a bigger nose and no freckles, like Harry did, which was a plus. Because Norman Osborn was kind of creepy to look at, and Harry was nowhere near as bad. Harry also had his mother's green eyes (only seen her once, and from what I've heard from gossip, she never talks), which were _definitely_ nice to look at.

"Oh, yeah," I said, walking down the hall to my class. Or the way that I thought was to my class, then I realized I was instead heading towards the girl's bathroom. It may have been my subconscious telling me that my stomach's trapeze act inside me didn't bode well for my breakfast, and that the jackhammer making new renovations inside my head was getting _way_ too enthusiastic for comfort. I didn't turn around, though, and Harry didn't question it. "But I'm fine, though. I just got a cold the other night."

"Looks like you still have it." He remarked, giving me a look that clearly said _You really need to go home_. Probably the same thing everyone's been giving me. "I don't know, Amy. I heard about you fainting. I mean, I'm glad you're all right and not in the hospital right now, but… maybe staying in school isn't a good idea."

"Giving fuel for Astor to taunt me isn't a good idea, either," I told him, watching as the bathroom came closer and closer. I was glad it was a one-person bathroom with a lock, not one with a bunch of stalls in it. I really did not need witnesses for my guts to unload themselves. "You know what happened last time."

"Oh, yeah," Harry nodded slowly, closing his eyes as if he could see it right now. "The Christmas Incident. Okay, I see your point. How long did it take you to regrow your hair, again?"

"The entire rest of the year," I grumbled, looking at a nearby trashcan. No, I hadn't lost all sense of self-respect. The bathroom was still my first option. My only option, really. "And to think Freshman year was bad."

"I don't know," Harry shrugged. "Pete's been doing pretty well, ever since…well, you know. He's stopped wearing glasses. Got rid of the nerd look."

"Are you saying I look like a nerd?" I still had enough of myself to be a little offended, but it didn't last long. My stomach was doing back flips, and it wasn't because I was talking to a boy.

"What? No, that's not what I meant!" Harry raised his hands, palms-out in a gesture of innocence. "I swear. I'm just saying – maybe this year, things will change for you, too."

"I could do with a few changes," I mumbled. The back of my throat felt lumpy, as it always did when I felt like I was going to be sick. Man, what I'd do to get Astor off my back. The bathroom was right there, open for me to take. "I got to go."

"Amy, wait –" Harry raised a hand to stop me, but I had already ducked into the bathroom, slamming the door before anyone else could take it. As I leaned over the sink, trying to get a handle on myself, I heard him banging on the door, shouting from the other side. "_Amy, what's wrong? Oh…oh, crap. Amy – Astor's coming_."

Fantastic. Like my day couldn't get any worse.

I heard her voice about a split second later. "_Get lost, Osborn, or I'll slam you so hard, your rich old man is gonna feel it. Scram!_"

Harry made the wise decision to leave. "_I, uh, I gotta go, Ames. See you in Calculus._"

My heart fell as I heard his retreating footsteps, racing to get to his class on the other side of the building. Suddenly, I felt bad for doing this to him. It wasn't his fault. But I couldn't do anything about it, either.

Two seconds later, Astor was banging on the door and shouting through the wood. "Yo, Freak! Is that you in there? What the hell are you doing?"

A cramp took me by surprise, catching me in the side. I gasped, clutching my ribcage as my knees buckled underneath me. It felt like a shark had its jaws around me, tearing me apart. I had never experienced worse pain in my life.

Astor was still going at it. I could hear the sneers and laughter on the other side. Astor hadn't come alone this time. She brought back-up, in case I'd escape from her again. I had locked myself in a death trap.

Okay, maybe I over-exaggerated, but with my insides trying to be on the outside, it felt pretty serious to me.

"_Go_…_away_…" I meant to shout it, but honestly, even if I were in perfect condition, I wouldn't have done it. My voice came out in a pathetic whimper, a new low for me. God, I knew I was weak, but I had always tried to keep some dignity, whatever little bit I had left. This was horrible. Another wave of pain washed over me and I fell back against the opposite wall.

On the other side, Astor was cracking up. One of her teammates, a redhead girl with an annoyingly high-pitched voice that could only be accomplished by breathing helium simpered, "Did you hear that? Little Amzy told us to go away! How adorable!"

I don't know who came up with the nickname Amzy (it was around sixth grade, when Astor officially made herself my tormentor, around the same time wearing the right brand of high-quality clothes and make-up became relevant to school life as well), but it was the worse thing ever for me because it _never made any sense_. First of all, I couldn't remember _why_ it irritated me, because it was pretty stupid and not the cleverest name; second of all, I could only imagine they meant to say my actual name but accidentally botched it. I mean, who screws up a name like Amy? That's almost as bad as confusing your own alphabet.

Breathing became hard. I've never had asthma before, but I suddenly had a good idea what it was like. I hadn't choked on anything, but it was like my diaphragm just stopped working. I didn't have the muscle power to draw in breath.

For one crazy second, I thought that Astor might be able to save me. I don't know why, because immediately afterwards I knew it was a stupid idea to think. But a part of me hoped that Astor wasn't a completely heartless monster who relished in other's pain, and would at least have the humanity to help someone who was dying.

That idea was gone in a moment. I grasped at the wall, as if that would help me try to stand back up. They were hammering at the door now, and I got seriously worried they were attempting to break it down.

Then my rash started to boil.

Okay, I couldn't actually tell, because I couldn't see it, but that's what it _felt _like. Searing, boiling water dumped onto my back, straight from the stove. Unable to breath and crippled from the pain in my stomach, I could only writhe and thrash helplessly on the floor. The world kept going in and out, fading into darkness only to return when another bought of pain came around.

Pressure filled inside my head, a clamp coming down to squeeze it tight. It could have been the blood rush of no oxygen, but the part of my still-conscious mind not overwhelmed by agony didn't think so. This was different, on an entirely new level of problems.

I couldn't hear Astor or her friends anymore, the banging on the door only present because I could feel the vibrations through the floor. Hard, thumping vibrations that made me sick again, like the too-loud noises I've been hearing all morning. Why wouldn't it just stop? Everything else was blocked out by the panicky blood rushing through my ears, using up whatever oxygen I had left in my arteries.

Just when I was sure I was going to die, I blacked out.

It wasn't the same thing as fainting, because I never remembered it happening. One moment I was thinking about window cleaners for skyscrapers, the next thing I know, I'm staring at the ceiling of the nurse's office. This time, blacking out, I was acutely aware that the world had just stopped existing. No more sounds, no more vibrations, no more pain. Just blissful nothing.

It didn't feel like I was dead, so I didn't immediately assume I was. This felt too _real_ to be death. It was too dream-like to be real. Also, no white light like all those urban legends dictated, so there's that. Just utter oblivion.

Maybe I did die, just for a second or two. A minute at most. Dying was defined by, at most, your heart stopping. Mine did, I was sure of it, as the world came back, after an indefinite amount of time I couldn't measure.

It couldn't have been long, since Astor was still at the door, banging away.

The only thing I could assume had been my death was the fact that my chest was killing me. My heart felt like there were clamps around it, but it pumped anyways, and slowly the cramps went away.

There was pain. Still plenty of that. My headache was a full-blown migraine by now. But I could breathe again and managed to get myself to sit up. My whole body was shaking, still recovering from the shock. My limbs had gone numb. I took deep breathes, trying to calm my mind and my heart. I couldn't believe I just _died_.

But I was back, and now I had a whole new set of problems. Such as Astor really trying to open the door. I heard the _scritch-scritch_ of someone trying to pick the lock. Holy crap, these guys were serious. Astor would be here in a second, and make sure I was dead for good.

I slammed my back into the door, to keep it from opening if they succeeded. I did it harder than I meant to, earning that crippling burn as it mixed badly with the welts and hives. My back hurt, particularly my spine, and my neck was stiff. I honestly couldn't believe how hard it was just to turn my head. The problem seemed to be at the cuts in the back of my neck. Well, I shouldn't have been surprised.

With only limited movement to aid me, I managed to shakily get back to my feet, still trying to get my neck to move normally. My back protested with each movement I made, clearly not ready for these insane things I was doing. I braced myself against the door, trying to regain feeling in my fingers and toes.

I didn't even know what I was doing. I was trapped in here. There was nothing I could do against Astor. I couldn't fight her, not when she had back-up. And there was no way to escape…

Clearly, I hadn't spent enough time in this bathroom, because it was only then did I see the tiny window on the opposite wall, high above my head. It was one of those tiny windows, about a foot and a half in length, barely nine inches tall. I stared at it, suddenly hopeful. That could be my way out.

The door rocked underneath my touch. I glanced at the lock. It was still there, tight as ever, but the knob was getting loose. Why wouldn't these guys just give up? I mean, what was Astor expecting to find in here? Me in tears?

I touched my face, felt the cold wetness. Well, apparently yes.

I gauged the distance between me and the window. It opened with a clasp, thankfully, so I wouldn't have to smash my way through. Not that I could, but right now I was desperate to get away. Running away was my only choice.

I jumped onto the toilet seat to reach the window. It was a little to my right now, but I was able to push open the window. I jumped up to get a better grip and for a second my feet were hanging in the air, suspended, before I managed to scrambled up by my arms, scraping them against the edge of the window, before pulling up the rest of my chest and getting my body half-way out.

That's when I encountered another problem. If I kept coming out like this, I was going to face plant into the ground. At least I was still on the first floor. Keeping a firm grip on the brick wall on the outside, I shimmied the rest of the way out. Carefully, I flipped over, so now I was facing the inside of the building, my toes carefully perched on the edge. Then, after about a minute of hesitation, I pushed myself away from the wall.

My back hit the dirt, throwing a puff of dust into the air. I laid there, numb and breathless for a moment. My back still hurt, and this was like getting slammed by a charging bull. I waited for my ability to breathe to come back, coughing as I recovered.

I got up, my bones and joints aching. Stumbling, I looked back up at the window. There was no way I could get back in there, now. The window was too high from the ground, and I was too short to jump. I frowned, realizing I had dropped my Psych book and binder when I had collapsed and forgot to pick them up. Now when Astor managed to get in, all she'd find would be my stuff. At any rate, I still had my backpack.

I managed to push up the window pane by jumping and extending my arm to its fullest extending, my fingers tips glancing off the edge. At least it wouldn't look like I used it to get out.

I stepped back, limping a little on one foot. Apparently the thrashing in the bathroom earned me a sore ankle (not including a stopped heart, migraine, and massive pain). Head still throbbing, I checked for any security cameras before dashing out of the little alley I had fallen into. Behind me, I heard Astor finally get through the door, the yelling coming to an abrupt stop when they realized their would-be victim had disappeared.

I dashed down the alley, the opposite direction of the school's entrance, and turned left into a side street between two buildings. I wasn't going back to school, not after fainting then _dying_. And I wouldn't be surprised if Astor would make the most of the third time around with me. Maybe I _should_ have gone home.

But Mom wasn't working today and I wasn't going home without a permission slip. How do I explain that I _died_ in a bathroom? That my heart stopped beating for an entire minute (I'm pretty sure)?

As soon as I felt that I was far enough away from the school, I got back to the main street. I took a cab from there and headed to the library.


	3. Chapter 3: Discovery

**Sorry this took so long to come out, I was on vacation . Anyways, enjoy. I also welcome any suggestions, either though PM's or reviews.**

**P.S. - Priprioception is a real thing, BTW. Just letting you know I'm not pulling this out of my a**.  
**

**Read and Review :D**

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**Chapter Three**

**Discovery**

The man in the large arm chair in the dark office stared at his desk with an indiscernible expression. There were very few items on the dark paneled wood – a small metal bust of an old colleague, a single fountain pen set parallel to a leather folio, and an antique rotary dial phone. These items had rested on the same desk for the past four generations of his family, and he planned on continuing the tradition.

His associate sitting in the dark corner smoked a cigar. Cuban, by the smell of it. The man approved of the quality. The red glow and occasional puff of smoke were the only signs of existence he exuded. After a particularly long drag, his boss said, "I don't know about you, son, but I don't enjoy being betrayed."

The man only received a stream of smoke in response. He sighed and continued, "But it seems that our old friend's found some new allies. He's untouchable."

The man shifted in his leather chair, readjusting the tailored Armani suit around his shoulders. The office was warm, almost humid. He pressed a button on the underside of his desk to order a drink. "But not invulnerable. He's got past ties. I want you to find them and take them out. That'll bring our old friend out of hiding."

The red circle dipped, indicating a nod, and the man's associate stood up and did up the buttons on his jacket. Checking for his gun and sliding it into his coat, he slipped out the door without another word.

**OoOoO**

I was still trying to recover from the incident in the school bathroom when I reached the library. The two lions, Patience and Fortitude, seemed to watch me as I trotted up the steps. I checked behind my back to see if I had any followers, although why I had no idea. Just…dying had me really freaked out, okay?

Under most circumstances, I should probably be going to the hospital, to make sure that getting dunked in a mysterious gray substance wasn't going to do any worse than stop my heart. Like…well, I didn't know yet, but I was sure more side effects would show up.

Like heart palpitations, although that might have been because I had skipped school and just escaped Astor. _That's _something to be excited about.

I sat in my usual spot in the giant reading room, one corner of a curved table with a great vantage point of the room. I took out my books and turned on the table light, I checked my watch before beginning to skim at the point I left off.

A part of me wanted to do some research, but I was afraid of running into someone I knew if I got up to find a computer. I knew some of my teachers took off days, and really they were just as likely to come here as anywhere else. And what if there were police officers here? I had never come to the library during school hours. I was smart enough not to look like a truant.

But now my mind was fraying. My heard was still beating irregularly, even though I had been sitting down for at least five minutes. I swallowed, but my throat felt like sandpaper. I reached into my bag for a water bottle, taking a discrete sip as a librarian strolled by. The water felt good going down my throat, but the scratchiness was back within minutes.

I turned three pages in my book before I realized I had absolutely no idea what I just read. The words seemed to float right by me. I knew what they said but I couldn't absorb the meaning.

The library was always cool, even in the winter. But now I felt too hot. I shed my jacket and sweater, but my skin was bright red all along my arms. It seemed as though the rash had spread. How, I didn't know.

I touched my tomato-red forearm. It was hot to the touch, like new sunburn. It didn't necessarily hurt now, but only an hour ago I was freezing cold. My body temperature was on a rollercoaster ride that couldn't find a nice medium to rest at.

I had to write down the side effects before I started losing my mind. My hand was shaking so bad that my scrawl was almost unintelligible, but I still managed. Let's see: high fever, spreading itchy rash, fainting, temperature fluctuations, cardiac arrest, dizziness, nausea.

I ended the list with 'death' but that seemed more like a result than a symptom. And, really, it couldn't have been more than a few seconds, to be honest. People's hearts stopped all the time, just to kick back in. People were brought back to life all the time on TV, with the magical defibrillator.

I needed something to get my mind off of this. If I just stopped thinking about it, maybe it would just go away. Mind over matter.

I looked around, checking my watch once more. He didn't have a class this time of day, and he always came around to look at biology books. I never once knew him to be late.

Okay, if there's one reason to not come to a library to read books, it's to watch your childhood crush browse the bookshelves. Gwen called it stalking, but I begged to differ. I mean, stalking is when you follow the guy around during the day, memorize his entire schedule, steal his phone number, and check his Facebook status every five minutes. I didn't do any of that. I just sat in the library and waited for him, and watched from a pretty good distance.

Not because I'm crazy, no. It's because I was too scared to actually walk up to him and start a conversation, like most normal people do when they like each other. But what can I say, I was afraid of rejection.

This was also aided by the fact he was a college student, and I don't really know a lot of social norms, but high schoolers dating college kids always seemed kind of taboo. Maybe that's just me and my lack of societal awareness. I don't know; Gwen never seemed to think it was weird. Maybe she just thought it wouldn't happen anyways.

That's actually kind of depressing, now that I kind about it. Was I really as hopeless as I thought I was?

By the time I saw him walk through those doors, I had already forgotten everything that happened in school that day. He was tall and blond, a seasoned football player, with a knack for science. I didn't know what was more attractive about him – his good looks, athleticism, or total disregard of other's opinions. I mean, I know some football players are just kind of dumb (I know a few), but he seemed to just have good grades to spite the expected, the clichés. It was a kind of bravery I admired.

I don't think he ever noticed me, especially when I hid behind books and such. Besides, I wasn't much to look at, anyways. I knew for a fact that there were older, prettier girls at his college, those who didn't skip their classes because they forgot to do homework and were too afraid to face the teacher empty handed.

I actually considered doing my homework. Then I remembered that I didn't go to any of my classes that had it. I sighed to myself. Sick, fainting, Astor, _death_, now falling behind schoolwork? My day really couldn't get any worse right now.

But, jeez, he really took my mind off of _everything_ right now. This was something I was completely fine with. I entirely forgot that I was going to be in serious trouble when I got home, or tomorrow at school.

Even as I thought about it, he looked up from his book, looking around. His eyes went to my direction. I jumped, startled – did he know I was staring at him? Oh, crap, this is going to be _so_ weird…

In my shock, I had dropped my book and accidentally knocked over my backpack, only drawing more attention to myself as I tried to hide. Now I knew he was looking at me. I glanced up, feeling the blood draining from my face, as he started to approach me.

I almost panicked. I gripped my book and looked down, staring at the pages like I had been reading them this entire time. Maybe if I pretended nothing had happened, he'll leave me alone…

Thankfully, I didn't have to worry about it. As he started to go down the stairs, a girl behind him called out, "Hey, Eddie! Over here!"

I let out a whoosh of breath. Eddie Brock turned to smile at the girl, who looked to be a college kid like himself. Just like that, I slipped by his radar. I realized that I needed to leave now, while the girl still had him occupied.  
I shoved my books back into my bag, pulled on my sweater, and practically ran out of the library, ducking under the arms of a librarian who tried to slow me down. I was already out the door when my stomach started to act up on me again. I hugged myself, trying to keep myself from ruining my day only further.

I took a cab home, because I had nowhere else to go. Mom probably wouldn't be home until later. I felt exhausted by the time I arrived, so I wasn't enthusiastic about climbing ten flights of stairs just to crash on a couch. But I had to, because there was a really creepy guy in a black coat hanging out by the mailboxes, giving me the evil eye.

Ugh.

Either way, I climbed them, and considered that sleeping for the rest of the night was a sufficient reward. I dropped my bag on my desk chair and shucked my shoes before falling onto my bed. During the cab trip I got hot again and I took off my sweater. The red welts had now traveled all the way down to my wrists. Terrified, I pulled up my shirt and looked at my back through the mirror. The hives had carried down my back, centered at my spine, and disappearing underneath the waist of my jeans. With one finger, I touched my lower back, then pulled back with a hiss. My skin was _hot_, it almost burned at the touch.

Okay, while I was a little sweaty, that was mostly from the climb. My body was trying to cool itself off. Yes, my skin was itchy, but I couldn't sense just how warm it was, I had to _touch_ it first. Even now, it didn't feel like anything was wrong.

I checked my legs, just in case. It _had_ started down the edges of my thighs, but not nearly as fast as my arms had been overcome. I hoped these wouldn't leave any weird scars. Then bathing suit season would become nonexistent for me.

Maybe I had an allergic reaction. Shouldn't it be more deadly, though, if it's this bad? I had no idea. I just knew that when it dried out, all that peeling skin was going to gross me out.

I flopped on my bed. I didn't feel any worse than usual…which didn't say much, I guess, but I didn't feel like I was going to _die_, so that's something. At least the rash hadn't reached my face. Or, I hope it won't.

I lied down on my back, covering my face with my hands. It was warm, but not red-welts-warm. I reached underneath my hair, behind my neck, for the cuts on the back of my head. I couldn't even find them through the random mass of bumps. I sighed and let myself relax, trying to get myself some much needed rest. I'd only sleep for a couple hours, at least until Mom got home.

I didn't actually think I'd sleep all night.

Bright rays of morning sunshine streamed through my windows, blinding me as I opened my eyes. I was groggy at first, trying to figure out what had happened. The first notion I got was that I had missed something, that I had to do something that needed to be done yesterday. It didn't occur to me until I realized I was still in my day clothes that I had completely skipped supper and conked out the entire night.

I pulled myself from the bed. I pulled up the leg of my jean and – yep, the rash had spread all the way down. Oh, great, how was I going to hide this from Mom?  
I ended up wearing a long-sleeve shirt and jacket, even though it was a warm day out. This didn't go unnoticed. Mom gave me a weird look when I walked into the kitchen. "Uh, that jacket's a little excessive, don't you think?"

"Not really," I said, pulling up the collar so she couldn't see my neck. My hair was in a ponytail, because that was the only way I could make it look half-way decent when I couldn't take a shower before school. "It might rain again."

That was complete BS, since the weatherman had predicted clear skies for the rest of the week, but I didn't want to give Mom the real reason why I was wearing it. I still had a chance of catching my bus, so I scarfed down my breakfast and hurried back into my room to get my shoes back on.

"Whoa, there, speedster!" Mom caught me before I could dash out the door, a piece of toast still uneaten in my mouth. She pressed a brown paper bag into my hands, smiling. "Forgetting something? If you don't slow down, you'll choke."

I swallowed a bite of toast and pretended that nothing was wrong whatsoever. "I'm fine, Mom. See? Toast gone."

"And your homework? I heard you had a test yesterday in English? How'd that go?"

Oh, crap! I completely forgot about it! I mean, after dying and running away from Astor, I guess I had other things on my mind, but – oh, crap! I'd have to go back and ask for another chance, before Mom figured out I ditched school.

What if she thought I had left to avoid it? That totally wasn't the reason, but since I would never give her the real one, it's kind of the next logical choice, you know? I better get it done before teachers start calling. Or worse, Gwen.

I guess when your Dad's chief of police, you sort of earn an amount of responsibility. When it came to Gwen, that responsibility didn't mean just for herself, but for her circle of friends as well. From time to time I'm grateful, because Gwen really is the only reason I haven't been held back two years, but sometimes I'd like people to think I can take care of myself. Albeit, however dumb it is to think _that._

But whatever.

"It went great, Mom," I lied, eyeing the staircase. _I really have to go!_ "Can I go now? I want to make the bus this time."

"All right, but stay safe!" Mom called as I dashed down the stairs in my attempt to catch up with the bus. "And don't waste all that energy too soon!"

Energy? What energy?

I didn't think of it until I was climbing into the bus, looking for a seat. Mom was _right_; I was buzzing with a sort of hyperactivity that wanted me to keep moving. At the moment, I didn't want to sit down. I felt like I could run all the way to school!

Which is seriously stupid, by the way. I didn't have the lung capacity to make a trip like that.

I found an empty seat mid-way down the aisle. Speaking of which, where _had_ this energy come from? The last few days I felt like total crap. Now I felt like I could do anything. The rash hadn't seemed to stop, but it wasn't bothering me anymore. It's like everything just took a major 180.

My good feeling had waned by the time I got to school, though. Suddenly I realized all that I had to face today. Homework I didn't do, tests I had to do, teacher's I had to talk to, Gwen to console (because she was going to kill me for skipping English class again), and Astor to avoid.

Gwen was already armed with the Look when I entered the courtyard. "So, uh, what happened to English class? I hope you didn't drop it."

"No, I…" I squirmed under her piercing gaze, trying to wiggle out of the situation. "I'm not dropping it."

"Then why didn't you show up? Harry told me you weren't in Calculus, either."

Oh, man! I forgot about that, too! Crap, crap, crap!

I wanted to kick myself for forgetting so much. "Yeah, uh, there was this thing with Astor and I kind of panicked and…then I ran away."

"From Astor?"

"From school."

"_Amy!_"

"What?" I asked, trying to play the innocent card. "She scares the bejesus out of me, and you know that!"  
But Gwen shook her head, not accepting the excuse. "Well, why didn't you just get a teacher or something? And, jeez, you could've just asked for a pass to leave school. You looked bad enough as it was. You do know truancy is a crime, right?"

"What are they gonna do, put me back in school?" it was such a dumb, insulting thing to say, but I was getting angry and I didn't pay attention to what was coming out of my mouth. A second afterwards, I realized what I had done and quickly backpedaled, "I mean, sorry, I'm just not…I've had a pretty rough week, okay?"

Gwen scowled but sighed nonetheless. "Okay, fine. But you're staying after school with me to do that test, all right? If you fail English, they're keeping you for another year and there won't be anything I can do about it."

I knew she was right. "Wait, you didn't take the test?"

"Of course I took the test, dummy," Gwen rolled her eyes. Above us, the bell rang for classes to start. "I'm just making sure you do, too. Come on, we'll be late for class."

Actually, it was just Study Hall, but it was in a classroom nonetheless. I spent the time catching up on homework, ignoring the whispers Astor was passing around in class, and convincing Gwen to help me answer a free-response question. By the time the bell rang for next class, I had 80% of my late homework done. I was feeling pretty good about myself until Astor cornered and locked me inside a storage closet.

This was one of her newer pranks, ever since I got too big to fit into lockers. On the other side of the door, I could hear her laughing. "Ha, no windows in there, Freak! Try to find your way out of this one!"

Damn. So this was revenge for yesterday, huh? Astor was always so creative.

And I say that with sarcasm. A lot of it.

On the other side, I could hear Gwen trying to convince Astor to let me out, because apparently Astor took the key to the door. "Come on, Astor, we've got classes to go to! Do you want me to tell the principle?"

"_You can tell your sheriff dad for all I care!_" Astor sneered, and I heard her and her cronies walk away. "_See you later, losers."_

"_It's chief of police_!" Gwen snapped, although I doubted Astor was listening. It wasn't one of her strong suits. Closer to the door, I heard Gwen say, "_Don't worry, Ames. I'll get a janitor. You're not dying in there, are you?"_

"No, I'm fine," I said through the door, pressing my hands against the wood beside my face. "The light switch is right here. Please hurry."

"_I'll be right back, I swear_."

Gwen sounded earnest, as if she were trying to convince me. She didn't have to, because I trusted Gwen more than anyone else, besides my mom. I mean, Gwen betraying me? That's just not right.

I heard her run off to find help. Five minutes passed without a single person walking by this door, and I was losing patience. I reached to my left for the light, but when I flicked the switch, nothing happened.

One of two things happened: One, I wondered how I had known where the light switch was, even though I had never been in here before and hadn't seen it going in. I just…_knew_ it was there. And Two: how the heck was I going to get out of here if I couldn't see anything?

The first one seemed to bother me the most (Gwen had the other part covered). I tried to explain it to myself that it was just an instinctual move to reach out against the wall nearby the door to find the light switch, because that's where it almost always was. But me reaching out for it wasn't a guess. I wasn't even looking for it. I reached for it with the same familiarity as any light switch in my apartment.

The only way I could describe it would be the same thing I learned about the human senses in Health class. There aren't just the basic five, but others as well (balance and time, for example). There's another one called "proprioception"; it's when you close your eyes and find your nose with your finger. You didn't see your nose to find it, or smell your finger to it, you just _knew_ it was there, like the rest of your body parts. That's how it works, and it's kind of like what this felt like – only instead of my body, it was the area around me.

The light switch wasn't the only thing I could find. I knew that the door knob was on the right, not the left, before I could find it. The storage closet wasn't more than six by six feet long, and I didn't have to hold out my arms to tell. If I took a step to my right, I run into a sink and shelves full of cleaning equipment, but I never moved from my spot to tell if I was right. I just _knew_.

Ugh, this was weird. Where was this coming from? I mean, I _had_ to have been in here before to know all of this, right? It didn't make any sense! I knew stuff I shouldn't!

There was a locker nearby the door, out in the hall that already had its locker combination set, so when its owner came back around, he wouldn't have to twist and turn the numbers and just pull the lever to open the door. I've seen kids do that, but I couldn't be right about it now, could I? It's just a random thought that popped into my head. Once I got out of here, I'd check and prove myself wrong, then everything will be all right.

I tried the doorknob, which was on the right. Frustrated with myself, I turned and tried to get a budge out. Obviously, it didn't work. I mean, if this weird new sense was as real as it felt, then I could pick this lock and tell when the sliders were in the right spot and–

_HolycrapIhadtotrythis._

I reached into one of the pockets in my bag and withdrew a bobby pin. I didn't know how many girls carried around bobby pins with them. I just got this thing from the hair dresser. Getting down on one knee, I slid the bobby pin into the key hole I couldn't see and jiggled it around. I felt kind of stupid relying on this kind of external sense to figure this out, but when it told me all the pieces were in place, I decided it was worth a try to see if it was right.

I got up and tried the knob. It turned easily and sunlight streamed into the room.

Oh, no freaking way.

Nobody told me I could pick locks! This is so cool!

Uh. Ahem. I probably shouldn't get ahead of myself.

I looked around. The halls were empty, devoid of students and faculty alike. At least Astor was nowhere to be seen, but neither was Gwen for that matter. What was taking her so long? Were there a line of kids waiting for a janitor to unlock _their_ friends from storage closets, too?

Of course, as soon as I turned around, I ran into somebody.

Clearly, this new sense wasn't as reliable as I thought it was. Maybe it was just a streak of luck, after all.

"Oh, hey, sorry," said the person I ran into, picking up the books I accidentally knocked out of his arms. Him being family, I didn't have to ask who he was. "Didn't see you there."

"Me either," I replied, leaning into the storage closet to get my backpack. "What are you doing out of class, Peter?"

"Uh," Peter had to think about it, apparently, as he readjusted his books and combed a hand through his brown hair. "Well, I could be asking you the same question."

To describe the relationship I had with Peter would be like trying to find a way to compare apples and oranges (other than the fact that they were fruit and we were not). I just…how do you describe your family? Normal?

I didn't really want to say that, since Peter lost both of his parents in a plane crash when we were really little, then Uncle Ben (Mom's older brother) last spring, which probably _isn't _normal by any stretch of the imagination. I felt kind of bad for just thinking that.

At the very least, we didn't want to kill each other on a daily basis, and he never felt like an annoying older brother to me. Just a friend who happens to be your cousin (which was the order our friendship came in. I didn't realize we were related until Aunt May came to pick him up one day in First Grade. _Man_, that was a big surprise for the both of us).

"I don't know about you, but I was locked inside a storage closet for the past ten minutes," I hooked a thumb over my shoulder, readjusting the backpack straps on my shoulder. "You don't look like you just came out of a storage closet to me."

"Yeah, lockers are more my game," Peter shrugged, as if getting bullied was normal for him to. It wasn't really, not since the beginning of the year when he started tutoring a cheerleader. "I've actually got Biology to go to. Classrooms got switched, late to memo, you know how it is. So, yeah, I'm late. Didn't Gwen say you're supposed to be taking our class, too?"

Peter didn't even live on Manhattan Island, so chances of seeing him out of school weren't very big, unless he was taking pictures for the _Daily Bugle._ He took pictures of the neighborhood superhero Spider-Man in action.I guess it's called freelancing, since it wasn't exactly a 'pay-by-the-hour' job.

Then again, it was still a job. Something I didn't have.

"Oh, she did?" I asked, realizing this could get bad fast. If I said the wrong thing and Gwen found out about it, things would get awkward. The bad kind, specifically. "Yeah, I still have to see my advisor, and you know…"

I was going to add 'not fail three and a half of my classes' to the end of that sentence, but right then another voice joined in from down the hall. "Amy! You're all right!"

Gwen trotted up to us, a little red in the face, with a janitor in tow. He scratched his beard and examined the open storage closet door. "Doesn't look locked to me. How'd you get out?"

"Did…Peter save you?" Gwen asked, turning to Pete, who just shrugged his shoulders in innocence.

"Not me. Amy was already out when I got here."

Gwen turned to me now. She frowned, as if wondering how I managed to break down a door in my size. "How did you…?"

"I, uh…" I quickly stuffed the bobby pin in my pocket before they could see it. "I picked the lock."

The three of us turned to the janitor, awaiting his judgment. Was I going to get in trouble for this? I know picking locks isn't exactly the most heroic skill a student should have, but it was only to get out of there, really. And I can't imagine there was anything worth stealing in that closet, anyways.

Eventually the janitor just shrugged and said, "S'all right with me," and walked away.

There was a collective sigh of relief for all mildly unconcerned janitors in the world.

"Well, at least you're all right." Gwen summed up. She pointed to Peter then at me, "We've got a changed class to go to, and you've got U.S. History homework to pass in."

Oh, yeah. Did I mention Gwen also knows my entire schedule? Like I said, I'd be lost without her.

Before I left, I had one more thing to do. Turning to the locker I had noticed earlier, I extended an arm and tried the lock. Whatever this new sense was, not only did it tell me this locker was already unlocked, but there was a heavy coat and a saxophone case inside. I had to see if this sense was real after all.

_ Ker-Chink!_

The door swung open, no combination required. Inside, one of those thick woodsman jackets that lumberjacks wear hung on the side, and a saxophone shaped case lying on the bottom.

Damn it!

"What…" Peter raised a finger, a strange look on his face. "How did you know that locker was open?"

I glared at the contents inside. It was like they were taunting me, proving that this all just wasn't lucky guesses and a few good assumptions. That something majorly weird was going on, and I wasn't just imagining it. That _I_ was weird.

"Lucky guess." I muttered and slammed the door shut.


	4. Chapter 4: Denial

**The Dodge Ball game (because in high school settings, you've gotta have Dodge Ball) described in this chapter is the same one I play in gym class. I mean, we've always just called it 'Dodge Ball' but I when I explained this version to a friend from another school, she said they called it 'German' Dodge Ball; so I really have _no_ idea how many of you are familiar with what I've played. I kind of explained it, anyways, in case it helps.**

**My schools also played "Star Wars" Dodge Ball, but that's a whole 'nother story...**

**Reminder: Suggestions are always welcomed! Please write them in either the review section or a private message if you wish to share.**

**Anyways, Read and Review!**

* * *

**Chapter Four**

**Denial**

It was an external sense of awareness. A sort of radar. Things faded out at about ten feet, but everything within that range? Fair game.

That's what I learned throughout the next few hours upon this sudden change. That didn't mean I liked it any more than before, and it certainly didn't help convince me this was real. Maybe I was in a dream. Like one of those really realistic ones you get when in a trance. I pinched myself. Real hard, for good measure.

Ouch! Okay, not a dream.

I scowled at my lunch, trying not to think about the way one kid's tray was totally loaded with an assortment of foods I could identify, even though he was sitting three tables awayand was hidden behind at least a dozen other kids. (The items on his tray consisted of exactly three strawberries, an ounce of rice, a pint of day-old milk, about a dozen french-fries, and a cheeseburger that had been nuked in the kitchen's microwave because the lunch ladies had a deficiency in spaghetti and a surplus of frozen patties).

I shuddered and ate the sandwich Mom made, trying not to focus on how she layered the lettuce and tomatoes and made sure that the meat wasn't uneven. Even my mom's food-OCD was getting picked up by this radar thing I now had.

I can only imagine some kids would be psyched about this. And I understand that, really. But those kids probably aren't so cripplingly pathetic to the point that they'd run away from school just to avoid their daily tormentors. I mean, not even go to the teachers or parents! _That's_ how much of a loser I was.

I hated being afraid, I really did. But it wasn't just something you could just let go, forget and move on. It clung to you like melted marshmallow. I guess you'd call it being your own worst enemy. If anything, at least it got me out of trouble from time to time.

The cafeteria was outside. Most days, when it wasn't raining or freezing cold, the students always ate here. Otherwise, it was in the classrooms, which wasn't nearly as exciting. It was, as you can imagine it, segregated into cliques; much the way that movie _Mean Girls_ describes it. I don't know what my table was called. Probably just 'That Freak', because it seemed to be the only thing I was known for.

Across from me sat Gwen, who was lecturing me on the classes I missed, trying to catch me up in case a teacher decided to play the cruel card and ask me a question about something I would've learned in the class I wasn't in. It's happened before and it's humiliating. And so totally evil.

Gwen seemed to have forgotten about the storage closet incident, but it was still fresh in my mind, as well, as the events of the previous few days. God, first I died, then this new _sense_ shows up? Was this even normal to patients who had cardiac arrest? Because I was pretty sure I would have heard it on the news.

"Are you even listening to me?" Gwen's demand broke through my reverie. What with my stupid 'radar' picking up everything in a ten foot radius, it was hard to think about anything else. It was just so _overwhelming_. And, uh, gross. That too. "Amy, we've got Dodge Ball in Gym class. Astor's going to _kill_ you."

"Doesn't she always?" When Astor's not running down a field with a mutilated hockey stick, she threw a mean overhand pitch in the Girl's Baseball Team. Apparently, she was too rough for the Softball Team. So, not surprisingly, her dodge balls really, _really_ hurt. "At least it's a free A for the class."

"I guess that's all you can hope for, really." Gwen nodded, waving her fork in the air. "And learning how to dodge. That's good to know, too."

"Agreed."

Unfortunately, I sucked at dodging. And I had a really bad throwing arm. Two plus two equals total annihilation during Gym class.

Even worse, my class takes Dodge Ball very seriously. I'm not kidding, when those two teams line up behind the center line, everyone's giving the enemy death glares, like we're in the wild and looking intimidating can destroy the enemy. Well, it worked on me, so I guess there's that.

There are a few ways to play Dodge Ball, as I've heard, but Midtown plays it one way and one way only. Okay, the picking up the ball and hitting the other players part is still the same, but when you get out, you go to 'Jail' which is behind enemy lines. Kind of like a POW camp, I guess. You could get back into the game if someone on your team throws a ball to you from the other side. Really, that's the only chance you had on getting back in. The only other way is if the coach takes pity on your team and calls a jailbreak.

Neither happened for me. I'm the kid they'd choose last for their team, because I'm not really good for anything, just ball fodder. They wouldn't bother throwing me a lifeline, because then I'd just get struck out again.

Have I mentioned I really don't like sports? I didn't know if it was evident or not.

Everything I just described happened exactly as I expected it to happen that day in Gym class. I was last to be picked and first to get sent to Jail. Really, I just sat down behind the line and waited for the next hour and twenty minutes to drag by.

My plan didn't exactly work out.

Astor was captain of the enemy team, which really meant she just yelled at every one and got to shout the loudest insults. She could scare the pants off a crazy murdering psychopath and cuss out a war-hardened pirate. _No_ _one_ tried to hit her.

She seemed to get bored with throwing dodge balls at terminal velocity, turning to me, still the only kid in their jail. Coach Tourna was too busy judging different hits, making sure no one got head or nut shots. The last time it happened, a kid named Finn Barney got a concussion and he moved to Canada with his parents. Rumors were that it was Astor who threw the shot.

So, yeah. Astor can scare people so bad they have to move to another country just to get away from her. Suddenly, skipping school didn't seem so bad anymore, did it?

I was certainly considering it as she approached, cracking her knuckles with a seriously messed up smile on her face. I edged back, but the only thing behind me was the wall. I looked up, wincing at her expression. Astor's hair was in a shiny ponytail and there were two black streaks across her face, like she was preparing for a football game. Or maybe she was just looking forward to beating me up.

"Stand up, Freak," she ordered, her knee-guards level with my face.

I really didn't want to.

Astor skipped the threats and hauled me up by my shirt, her fingers digging into my skin. She got right up in my face, her brow drawn. "I don't get it, why don't you listen to me? Are you deaf? Are your ears too full of cotton to hear me?"

She punctuated her sentence with a smack to the side of my head, effectively jarring me. My left ear started to ring and for a second I saw doubles.

"Hey, leave her alone!" for a second, I thought Coach Tourna finally witnessed Astor's harassment, but no, it was another student. In fact, Harry, who was on her team – it didn't stop him from being my friend, though.

But Harry's concern from me would be both of our downfalls. His inattention was a perfect chance to get hit by the other team, something they quickly took advantage of. Harry had barely made two steps in our direction before the Coach was telling him to go to the other side.

Astor pretended that she hadn't just hit me when the Coach gazed in our direction, throwing a dazzling smile at the teacher, which worked very well with both demeanors _and_ cameras, apparently. The Coach continued with her judging, calling out a kid from the other side who made an illegal shot.

I was back in torment a moment later. Astor had me against the wall and I couldn't budge out of her grasp. There was no one else on her team that would help me.

"Well, are they?" she struck the side of my head again, the same side. My ear felt a little numb now. Astor wasn't light with her punches. "Why do you have to make it so easy, Freak? All you need to do is shout. Come on, shout!"

But I didn't. I couldn't. My throat locked up. Something inside prevented me from saving my own life. Was this a conscious decision? A part of me wasn't sure. But I knew I feared of what would happen if I complied with Astor's demands.

Astor, for some reason, looked disappointed. Then angry, all over again. "God, you're such a loser. You can't even fight for yourself."

She dropped me, and for one split second of hope I thought she would finally leave me alone. Then that hope disappeared when she rammed her shoulder into my chest, slamming me back into the wall.

Astor knocked me breathless. I gasped, but my diaphragm refused to work. Oh, no, not again! I sucked in, but it didn't work, and for a second I panicked. Ringing filled my ears, blocking out any other sound. In the vague distance, I thought I heard shouting, the smack of a ball against skin. I couldn't really see because my vision went white.

The sensation of suffocation was gone within ten seconds, by then Gwen was by my side, blocking the Coach and pretty much everyone else from view. I think she was checking for damage, although I was relieved that my radar had suddenly disappeared. Had Astor knocked it out of me? Was it finally gone?

Once the ringing and breathlessness went away, I was able to stand up and pretend nothing happened. Gwen tried to get the attention of the Coach, but I convinced her not to. Gwen was the only witness and Astor had everyone else too terrified of her to get them to say anything against her. We'd just look like attention-seekers.

"Jeez, you don't look so good," Gwen winced, letting me lean against her as I regained composure. "Wow, that rash spread fast. Is it drying now?"

For Gym you had to wear t-shirts and shorts (ordained by the school, ugh), so parts of the red skin was exposed. Apparently I underestimated the normality of my freakiness, because no one pointed it out. I didn't even get a look.

I gazed down at my legs. It looked as though I took a bath in tomato juice. It was just so _bad_. I had to look away, not bothering to touch. "No, but soon, I hope. I just don't want to be sick anymore."

Gwen could tell I was retreating inside of myself. _I_ could tell she could tell. My arms were crossed and I was hunched over, trying to hide my face from view. Trying to recover from the pain and humiliating. Maybe it was just instinct or maybe I just didn't want people to see the tears of pain in my eyes. Suffocating to death again scared the hell out of me.

"Did she do that?" Gwen asked, her voice almost drowned out by the sounds of shouting and balls hitting walls and targets. Her arm extended behind me. I followed it up to the wall, where a dent was. I had never seen it before in my life. Where had it come from? "You'd think her hand would hurt from punching a wall, don't you think?"

I stared at it, realization dawning on me. My arms dropped to my sides as I took a step back. Astor hadn't punched it. That was _me_, my shoulder, being slammed into it. Now there was an indentation the size of a dinner plate left from the impact. I hadn't even felt it.

I reached for my shoulder, massaging it even though nothing hurt. That was the incredible thing. A blow like that should have dislocated my shoulder, but it didn't. My body was fine. I couldn't even fine any bruises.

Oh, no. This wasn't right.

I started to feel sick again. Then that radar came back, and I felt worse. No, no, no, no, no…No, please don't let this be real. It was just not real. Not in a million years. Not humanly possible. This was _impossible_. _Physically impossible_.

I reached underneath my shirt, feeling the rash. Gwen had been on to something. It _was _starting to peel. It was all dried up, not even hot anymore. I started to pull at it, but I chickened out and withdrew my hand. I shuddered again.

"Are you sure you don't need to see the nurse?" Gwen asked one final time. I knew the ball flying through the air was for her before I even turned to look at it. She reached out, catching it with both hands. "Seriously, you have to tell someone."

"I'm fine." I lied, watching her go back into the game. There were a few kids with me in Jail now, but they alternated, catching balls and getting back out. I was the only one who stayed for the entire game. By the time the Coach called it quits for both sides, getting everyone to gather over so she could call out the troublemakers and congratulate those who used teamwork and good throws – I was already heading towards the Girl's Locker Room.

I was done changing before everyone else, out the door before they had even gotten their bags. I was half-way there to my last class (with the gym in the main part of the building, I had to walk three flights of stairs and down two halls to get there), trying to squash my radar sense, when Harry appeared by my side, looking a little breathless.

"Okay, Gwen told me what happened." Harry said between big pauses of breath. I slowed down so he didn't have to overexert himself. "And I know she said you said you were fine, but I had to hear it from you myself. I mean, what Astor did was brutal. You are okay, right?"

I smiled a calming smile at Harry, who seemed to relax at the sight. I was touched he came all this way to just reaffirm Gwen's words. "Yeah, I'm fine. A couple bruises. Nothing weird out of Dodge Ball."

"Nope, I guess not," he grinned, clearly glad that I hadn't gotten a concussion like Finn Barney did. He pulled up his sleeve to reveal a line of bruises on his arm. "Check this out. Hit three times in a row in the same spot. I think Astor taunted your team into hitting me."

"No surprise there," I said.

"Oh, right, I almost forgot." Harry reached into his backpack and withdrew a familiar textbook and binder. "The other reason why I found you. I went back after Astor left the bathroom the other day to see if you were all right, but all that was left were these. I was pretty sure you weren't dead, at the time."

"Gee, thanks," I decided not to mention my brush with death in the bathroom and the irony that brought to his statement. Because, you know, that would make the conversation a little awkward. "Your vote of confidence is astounding."

"Ah, sarcasm. How original," Harry shook his head, smiling as he stopped in front of the door to my Physics classroom. "Well, now I know you got to your class alive and well. I got to go before Mrs. Kingsley locks me out of her room again. See you later."

I waved as he dashed back into the crowd, taking another maddened sprint before the bell could ring. It was kind of funny, as I watched him go.

Physics class was my favorite out of my curriculum, and the only class I kept at a solid A. Mr. Davis was the only teacher in the school who didn't think I was a complete idiot and knew I had potential to be a really good student. I've been expecting an uplifting speech from him for a while now, but I think he's been searching for the reason why I suck at all my other classes first.

The answer wasn't obvious because Physics was one of the few classes I didn't share with Astor, doubled with the fact that it was a subject I liked. I mean, you couldn't get any better than this. I didn't even know if Mr. Davis knew if Astor even existed.

Physics class was the one place I wasn't afraid to raise my hand, to show that I was actually smart and not a social pariah.

It was a work study today. I finished my Physics within thirty minutes, then decided to catch up with other work, because science made my brain feel happy and put me in a good mood. Despite the radar, I didn't feel sick. There was very little activity in the room and the work distracted me from my own senses.

The day ended well, despite everything. I considered it a job well done when I passed in my work and headed out the door. I would have left with the other kids when the bell rang until Mr. Davis called out my name.

I stopped and turned around, my stomach dropping out. The only reason I could think for this was that I had forgotten homework, something I would never do for this class. Maybe today wasn't going to turn out as well as I hoped it would.

"Miss Fletcher, may I have a word?"

"Uh, okay," because when your teacher wants a private talk with you, always sound a professional as possible. And not look around for all possible exits in the room because you're panicking. That's just a bad move.

Mr. Davis seemed to notice my twitchy movements. "Is everything all right?"

Honestly, I was terrified of Astor barging in to ruin my life again, but I wasn't going to tell him that. "No…I'm fine. Just glad it's the end of the day and all."

"Fair enough," Mr. Davis replied, taking up a stack of papers and dropping them against his desk, straightening them out. He set them back down, running his hand over the papers to flatten them. Mr. Davis looked up at me threw his thin-rimmed glasses. "I wanted to ask you something, a small question."

"Um, okay." I said again, because I'm an intelligent student who always thinks before she speaks. If she speaks at all.

"Can you give me a reasonable excuse as to why you're failing four of your classes, but you are doing excellent in mine?"

"Uh…" Crap. Was this going to lead into an uplifting speech? I really hope not. Plus, this was getting uncomfortable real fast. "Can you rephrase the question?"  
I think I ticked him off with that one. I swear on the greatest pizza in New York City that Mr. Davis almost rolled his eyes. In a voice that strained with self-control, Mr. Davis complied with my suggestion. "Miss Fletcher, are you failing your classes on purpose?"

I couldn't answer that. My throat locking kicked into gear and I could only open and close my mouth uselessly.

Mr. Davis was disappointed with my answer, but took it as that nonetheless. He removed his glasses and placed them on his desk, pinching the bridge of his now barren nose. Eyes closed, he asked, "I'll take that as a yes. Can you explain to me _why_ that is? Is there something preventing you from earning a perfectly respectable grade?"

I shifted from foot to foot, eyeing the door. Oh, come on, why wouldn't he just let this drop? My grades weren't his concern. They were mine! And Mom's, by proxy. And Gwen, if no one else cared. But not Mr. Davis! I swallowed at the lump in my throat and croaked, "No."

Mr. Davis opened one eye to look at me. "Try again. Convince me."

I grimaced. Yeah, my day officially sucked now. So much for that good feeling I had. Now a headache was taking its place. "No. Nothing's…nothing's preventing me from…"

I couldn't even finish the sentence. That's how bad I was. How pathetic I could be.

Mr. Davis sat back in his chair, appraising me (although I didn't know how, because he must have horrible vision without his glasses). I shifted nervously. He was the kind of guy to wear suits every day, even on Casual Friday. Not exactly the laid-back kind of guy. "Then why are you failing, Miss Fletcher? I know you're a good student when you try. But you're not. And simply not liking a class or a teacher is not an excuse I'd expect you to use."

He had a point, and he was right. But Mr. Davis was still so far from the truth. "No, I don't hate any of them. I mean, English is a little hard for me but…"

"But?"

I looked at him for a moment before just shrugging my shoulders. Again, I couldn't finish my sentence.

Mr. Davis let out a sigh. He looked down at the papers on his desk, running a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. "I keep each and every one of my students' tests, Miss Fletcher. I've had the same students over the past couple years. You, Amelia, are the only one who has perfect scores on all of her tests. _All_ of them."

I knew this. Why was he telling me stuff I already knew?

He leaned forward, pressing a finger on a sheet of paper on his desk. It had my name on it, along with the current grades of my classes. "I'd like to say it's an achievement of my teaching abilities to see that my class is your strong point, but it's your _only_ strong point. If my class had been Gym, I would have chalked it up to your lack of concern for real education. I have students who love exercise and hate reading. But I know that's not you. This isn't an excuse I'm willing to accept."

"I just…really don't like Shakespeare."

"Neither did I, and neither did Peter," Mr. Davis told me. Oh, good, he brought up my overachieving cousin, who every teacher _ever_ loves like he's their own son. I just _loved _being compared to him. Ugh. "But that didn't stop either of us from getting a good grade. From doing the work and doing it well."

Excellent move, Mr. Davis. Thank you for reminding me that I'm still second-best (albeit, by the longest stretch of the definition). I'll admit, I got a little snappish with him. "I'm not you. And I'm not Peter."

"Indeed." He said, and I wouldn't deny that sounded a lot like an insult. What, was Mr. Davis _trying_ to provoke me? What teacher just says stuff like that, to break down the kid's self-esteem or whatever? "You're not. I can't say you'd be better than him, because he has all A's in _his_ classes, but you could certainly be his equal if you tried. And I don't see why not."

Because of Astor. Because I'm the Freak.

Mr. Davis obviously had no idea what the other kids called me. I stuttered, "It's not…I don't… Why do you even care?"

Mr. Davis eyed me, his hands inching towards his glasses on the desk. "You're a student, Miss Fletcher. It's my job to care. Do you approve of apathy in others, as you do in your grades?"

He just threw word mumbo jumbo over my head, and I had to take a second to decipher it. "What…no, I don't! It's not that I _can't_ do it, okay? It's just that I…"

I didn't finish the sentence. Mr. Davis did it for me. His eyebrows shot up. "You _won't_, is that what you're trying to say?"

He seemed a little blown away by this. "I'll admit, Amelia, I haven't met too many students who willfully choose _not_ to ace their classes when they are clearly capable, but I must admit, it's quite…um…refreshing. But that doesn't make you any better than those students who skip classes and forgo their future for whatever moments they can find in the stairwells and empty alleys."

What? He was comparing me to _druggies_ _and dropouts _now? That was insane! I'd never do those things, ever!

"Will you tell me _why_ you choose not to do well in your classes? I don't know what it could be. You're smart, Miss Fletcher. I know you are."

"I'm not." I said before I could stop myself.

Mr. Davis paused, looking at me with an expression I could only describe as bafflement. Perhaps even amusement, because I was just that crazy. He put on his glasses, peering at me again, as if he only imagined the words that just came out of my mouth. "Could you…repeat that, Miss Fletcher?"

I really didn't want to, but I did anyways. "I'm…I'm not smart."

I wasn't sure if I believed it or not. It was just something Astor told me, every day, since sixth grade. And got others to, too, because she's got more friends than I do. I think it's a form of brainwashing, to be told repeatedly something you don't think is right until you finally believe its the truth, and nothing but. Just, repetition, repetition, repetition. Something like that can also make people go insane.

A look crossed Mr. Davis' face, but it was too fast for me to figure out what it was. He rubbed his chin, as if I just supplied valuable information. "I think you're lying. You know you're smart, Amelia. But why do you –"

At that moment, Gwen burst in, looking both furious and exhausted. She sucked in a huge breath of air, then let it out in a big whoosh. "I've been looking _everywhere_ for you, Amy! Come on, you've got a test to make-up!"

That seemed to throw Mr. Davis for a loop. He just stared blankly between us as I rushed towards the door, escaping the awful interrogation to do something that sounded much more enjoyable at the moment. Gwen was a life saver.


	5. Chapter 5: Apathy

**Hey, everyone, I'm going to be out of commision for a couple days, so updates won't occur for about a week. I think this is the longest chapter I've done so far, so hopefully that makes up for the upcoming hiatus. Anyways, send suggestions through reviews or pm's.**

**Read and review!**

**Chapter Five**

**Apathy**

"Okay, what was _that_ all about?" Gwen asked on our way to our English classroom. I wanted to thank her for getting me out of that situation, because _holy crap_, I thought I was going to die. Again. "Did Mr. Davis need something?"

"Not really," I shrugged. I decided that lying would be the best option, because I didn't want to talk about not being smart with Gwen, either. I mean, I _knew_ Mr. Davis had a point; I just…didn't want him to be right. And though he was, I still felt I couldn't do anything about it. "Something about my test score. I think he graded it wrong."

"Uh-huh," Gwen said, but didn't add any more to that. I had the feeling she didn't believe me. I wasn't going to add fuel to the fire and left it at that.

The English test went surprisingly well, considering I only read most of the plays. And I managed the free-response without once asking Gwen to help, who was currently reading a book on quotes while I worked. The teacher had left the room for her break. Apparently, I wasn't the only one to notice that.

"Mr. Davis wanted to talk to you about grades, didn't he?"

My grip on the pencil slipped. The lead snapped and I made a big mess in my answer about the significance of symbolism in _Julius Caesar_. I paused and bit my lip. "Yeah…so?"

"Well, what happened?"

"He wanted to know why his class was my best class. And why all the other ones sucked." I said, hoping if I just gave her the basics, Gwen would leave me alone. I really _was_ naïve. I should've known better.

"And?"

"And nothing, that's it."

"Amy, I know there's more to it than that."

"Well, there isn't."

"If you don't tell me what happened, I'll go ask him. It's really not a big problem for me, honest –"

"I told him I wasn't smart, okay?" I snapped, cutting her off mid-sentence.

Gwen stared at me for a long moment before finally blurting, "_Why_ would you say that, Amy? You know that's not true!"

"He said the same thing!" I threw my hands up in the air. I raised my voice simply because I was a little irritated, but that prompted Gwen to argue a little louder, too. I wondered if our voices could be heard in the hallway. "What do you want from me, Gwen? You _know_why my grades are like that!"

"Because you don't try!" she accused. She stumbled across her words for a second, as if still trying to absorb what I said. "You're afraid of-of being smart! It's…it doesn't' even make sense! I don't know _why_ because there's no reason for you to be."

"Astor! Duh!" Astor was pretty much the source of most of my problems. She was a good reason for just about everything that was wrong in my life.

This was turning into a full-blown argument. I've had fights like these with Gwen in the past, but I never felt _this angry_ before. It was actually kind of scary, and I was afraid I'd lose control of the situation, fast. I didn't know what to do when Gwen said, "No, Astor isn't stopping you from being smart! _You_ are! You won't let yourself be smart because you can't confront your problems!"

What can I say? I really hated confrontation, in every form it came in.

"So?" I said, because I couldn't think up of a good comeback. "So what?"

I think I surprised Gwen with that one, because she was rendered speechless (Although, not in surprise. Just, you know, scrunching up her nose and scowling at me with a bewildered look, clearly questioning what kind of retort _that_ was). I took the opportunity to get up and hand in my test, even though it wasn't finished yet. Then I practically ran out the door, before Gwen could stop me.

I know it was a bad idea to run away from your problems, but I couldn't think of anything else I could do that was any less humiliating. Behind me, I could hear Gwen calling out for me to stop and wait a second, but I dodged out the emergency exit before she could leave the classroom and see where I went.

God, I was so glad to be out of there. I braced my back against the wall as I heard Gwen pass, her footsteps passing through my radar. Which apparently can sense vibrations now. Because that just really made my day a whole lot better, you know?

While making a predictable move such as going to the Library (which is something I do after school every day) may seem like a bad idea, I didn't think so. The place was big enough for me to hide in and I knew Gwen didn't have my after-school schedule down pat. It was, in my opinion, the perfect getaway.

I discovered how much it sucked to be in a vehicle when I had a radar sense. The engine was the worst thing, with the heat and all the different parts, never mind the wheels and brakes. Plus, being surrounded by a bunch of other cars just like it? I had to put my hands over my ears and try to drown it out by multiplying square numbers.

I had a headache by the time I reached the library. Suddenly, going into a huge building full of people and books didn't sound like such a good idea, but I did it anyway. I went inside and found my usual spot, taking out my homework. I didn't really plan on doing it, but I wanted an excuse not to talk about my grades when I went to school the next day.

A librarian passed by my spot, eyeing me in a way that I think she recognized me from yesterday. I kept my head low and pretended I hadn't noticed her walk by.

My homework wasn't particularly exciting, but it kept me busy enough. I couldn't stop thinking about my English test. Out of everything that's happened in the past couple days; a stupid test was the biggest thing I was worried about. I know, it's dumb, but I really wished I had answered those last few questions before I ran out of there.

Of course, it had me completely preoccupied. My radar sense had decided that the one time I'd might actually benefit from, it was going to leave me hanging. I had no idea that a shadow had fallen over me until I looked up to check the time and saw Eddie Brock instead.

I practically fell out of my seat, my weak cry of shock dying in my throat. My jump had scattered papers across the desk and knocked my books to floor. I didn't know what to do – address the fact that I've been watched for the past couple minutes or try to pick up the mess I made upon realizing it?

While I floundered uselessly, Eddie bent down to pick up my books. "Oh, sorry! Are you all right? I didn't mean to scare you."

"S-scare me?" I stuttered, my hands trembling as I took the books he handed to me. Oh, my God. Eddie Brock was here. He was talking to me. _Me._ "What? No, of course not. I've got… uh, spastic muscles. Yep."

Did I really just say that? I mean, I knew I was stupid, but this was an entirely new low for me.

Eddie, for some reason, thought this was funny. A grin pulled at his mouth and I was rendered speechless. "Spastic muscles? I've never heard that before. Is it rare?"

"Uh, yeah," I recovered before he could see the stupid look on my face as he got up from his crouch. Embarrassed to be making a fool of myself, I kept touching my hair, the back of my head, my face as I tried to come up with a decent excuse for my random blabbing back there. "Yeah. It's, um, genetic. Incurable."

"Really? Because you seem like a normal girl to me."

Oh, no, I was blushing now. I had to set my books down on the desk because I didn't know what to do with my hands. "Um, I'm not exactly normal. A…a lot of people think I'm…they – they call me Freak."

I couldn't believe I just said that. Really. I mean, this just wasn't…

"Freak?" A look crossed Eddie's face, distorting his features in a way that they weren't as attractive. But, you know, still nice to look at. I swallowed and stared down at my papers, making a weak attempt to reorganize them. "Why do they call you that?"

I didn't know how to answer that. I stared at the desk lamp, concentrating on my composure. I kept my mouth shut, preventing myself from saying anything worse.

"Uh…" Eddie seemed to catch the hint that this was getting a little awkward. After a moment, he held out his hand. "Well, I saw you the other day, here. I kind of got the feeling that you were, I don't know, looking at me or something. But whatever. I'm Eddie Brock."

"Oh, I know," I said, smiling up at him, unable to stop myself. I quickly continued before he realized what I said was a little weird. "Uh, I mean, you went to Midtown. Same school as me right now."

"Ah, I knew you looked familiar," he nodded, sticking a hand in his pockets. He held up his other hand before I could introduce myself. "Wait, let me guess. I think Peter told me once. Um…not Alice, right? Okay, no. Uh, Amber? All right, I didn't think so. Wait, wait, wait, it's on the tip of my tongue…Amy! That's it, isn't it?"

"Yeah, you got it. Amy Fletcher." Well, at least the part he remembered about me wasn't one of the many embarrassing moments I've had at Midtown. Or the fact that I was Freak. It was quite refreshing, actually. "How do you know Pete?"

"You're joking, right?" Eddie chuckled a little. "Me and Peter are tight. We're bros. I've known him since forever."

"Longer than me?" I asked, surprised. Granted, I _could_ know Peter better than I do now, but I've _known_ him since Kindergarten. "I mean, I don't talk to him much, but Peter's never really talked about you."

"Really? I wished he talked more about _you_," Eddie said, leaning against the desk with another dazzling smile.

I kind of just laughed because oh, my god, I think Eddie Brock is flirting with me. Was this even real? Out of all the sucky things that have happened to me, this was by far the best of them. It was almost unbelievable. A part of me still wondered if this was a dream, because there was no possible way this was happening right now.

Eventually, while fiddling with my pencil, I said, "Wow, um, that's really nice. But I don't think there's much to talk about."

"Well, I don't believe that," Eddie maneuvered around me to sit in the nearest empty seat. He glanced at my scattered homework papers, squinting to read the words. "I mean, look at this. It's…um, Shakespeare. Yeah, I don't really know a lot about Shakespeare. He kind of bores me. Science is more my thing, you know?"

"Yeah!" I blurted, my voice a little louder than necessary. My hand flew to my mouth, and I glanced around in embarrassment to see if anyone had heard. But the nearest person was twenty feet away and the librarian who was watching me before was nowhere to be seen. I ducked my head, speaking at a lower decibel. "I mean, me, too. With Shakespeare. And science. I really like physics. And…aren't you a football player kind of guy?"

"Ah, I gave up the game when I hit college," Eddie waved his hand in the air, as if dismissing the thought. "Strictly a nerd now."

I was impressed. A jock giving up the trade for a pile of textbooks? If I were somebody like Astor, at the top of my game and popularity, and my only setback was that I wasn't very good in class? I wouldn't give it up in a second. "Nice. How's that going for you?"

"Pretty well. As far as Midtown's concerned, I'm over it." He leaned against the desk, his back on the wood corner. Eddie looked up at the ceiling, examining the structure. "I just took high school way too seriously. All that drama, you know? It's not good for anything. It's superficial garbage that takes over your mind and distracts you from what's really important. Kids should be thinking about their future and how they want to make an impact on the world, not about who's dating who and where the coolest party is at."

Um. Okay.

A lot of that kind of flew over my head, but I managed to save face by saying, "Are you majoring in philosophy? Because that's pretty deep stuff right there."

"What? You agree?" Eddie turned his head to me with a grin.

I was still trying to catch up with what he was saying. I mean, I understood what he meant. A lot of visiting alumni told us not to focus on social issues, just get your work done and get the hell out of there. But they forget that social issues are what being teenagers are _about_. It's what gave us worth, made us feel important somehow. Or, in my case, feel less than important.

"I don't know," I started to say, slowly, because I didn't know how he would react. "That drama stuff? I think it gives a lot of teenagers a sense of…what do you call it? I don't know, relevance or something like that. I mean, we're not even adults. What we do or say doesn't matter to the real world yet. So what we do around each other…it matters a lot more."

Eddie seemed to contemplate that. "Okay, so maybe I was wrong trying to convince a girl who gets called Freak that social status isn't important. My bad. But I see what you're saying. I just think you guys suck at it. All that social stuff? It's so petty! And you guys hate each other so much. Like, it's all about winners and losers and those who don't fit in to the collective. The freaks. Like you. And that's not fair."

It felt weird talking about this stuff with a college kid, much less the crush I've had since middle school. I never thought I'd have conversations with him in the first place, but now we're talking about this – this intense sociology stuff? I haven't even taken that class yet.

But I liked that he was sticking up for me. "No, it isn't. But life isn't fair, is it? I guess it's just a small dose of reality before we hit the big leagues."

"Poetic," Eddie grinned at me. "Impressive. Are you sure that Science is the only thing you like?"

Well, it was the only thing I was good at. I smiled at him and just shrugged. I glanced over my shoulder to look at the clock on the wall. Then I almost fell out of my chair when I realized Mom was home right now, and I wasn't. I hadn't realized how long I stayed after school, how long I had been here, in the library. I couldn't believe how fast the time flew by.

"Oh, crap," I scrambled up, pushing all my books and papers into my bag in a haphazard mess. I picked up whatever fallen pencils had landed on the floor, finding them pretty easily thanks to my stupid radar sense. "I've got to go. I'm late!"

"Whoa," Eddie jumped up from his chair as soon as I started making sudden movements. He looked startled at my words of departure, and for a second I thought he looked disappointed. But then I had to look down to zip up my bag, so I couldn't be sure. "Where are you going? It's not even supper time yet."

"It is for my mom," I replied, slinging my backpack onto my shoulders. I turned to him and gave a regretful smile, just to make sure I didn't appear like a total dork and ruined this first impression of myself. "She has weird hours. But, uh, I'll see you later…I guess?"

I tacked on the last part as a question, because I didn't want to assume that I'd actually see Eddie again after this. But I didn't have to worry, because Eddie just nodded in understanding, not offended at all. "It's cool, Amy. Do you usually come here after school?"

"Uh, yeah."

"So, tomorrow, then."

Okay, I'll admit. I grinned huge and had to keep myself from giggling like a little school girl in anticipation. I managed to keep the blush down this time because I turned around before I started staring at his face for too long. In my rush for the exit, I waved one last goodbye before entering the streets.

My mom probably wouldn't freak out over me being home late, but that was usually because I dropped a line saying I'd, you know, be late (which I didn't). And I didn't have enough cash on me to make an extra phone call, not even to get a cab. I'd have to walk.

Which, it turned out, was a lot better than being in a cab. It was nice not to be surrounded by a bunch of machines that made no sense to me. Although, while people-dodging wasn't the best thing in the world (people kept hitting me with their bags and suitcases, leaving my sides and legs a little sore), they definitely weren't as complex or headache-inducing as car engines.

With no sign of my radar sense going away, I was getting nervous that I'd actually have to do something about it. A part of me just thought that if I waited long enough, it'd fade, but I had no idea how long that would take. A week? Months? Years? I couldn't wait that long. I needed a solution. Now. Before I realized that I could never take a bus to school again. And forever be late to wherever I need to go.

The walk home was a long one. I tried running, just to speed things up. There were times before where I had no cash left for a ride, but my muscle development and lung capacity were so low at those times that I could jog a block and be out of breath.

Now? I hadn't realized I just made it three blocks before I got a stitch in my side and had to stop by the subway entrance that marked the halfway point between the library and my apartment building. I clutched my side, looking behind me as if I just imagined racing through that crowd.

I had to pause to catch my breath, reluctantly taking off my sweater even though it was starting to drizzle. The cool water seeped through my shirt and cooled parts of my skin that were still sore and itchy. I started to scratch at the peeling skin on my back, and found myself horrified when I pulled back at least three inches of dried skin.

"Ew!" I snapped my hand back, goose bumps crawling across my arms. After a moment of hesitation, I touched my now rash-free shoulder. The fresh, new skin underneath surprised me. Not too tender, and not too rough. Like a baby.

This was getting seriously weird. First, the radar sense. Then massive wall damage with no bodily harm? And now the sudden endurance to run three blocks when ten meters knocked you out a week ago?

I had to get home.

Nothing extraordinarily weird happened for the rest of the journey, but that was because my side hurt too much to run anymore. Not that I wanted to, but it cut back on whatever else I could learn about…whatever this was. The weirdness kicked up again when I pushed through the front door into the lobby. I had just passed the office door and was about to climb the stairs when I saw something behind Charlie's door.

Charlie lived on the bottom floor. His own apartment was one end and his 'office' (which was consisted of only a small desk, a chair, and a TV stacked on a pile of almanacs). His office door was visible from the staircase, which made it real easy to see when a big guy in a black coat was harassing the man behind the glass.

First I thought I was seeing things. Then I couldn't believe what I saw.

The man in black had his fists in Charlie's shirt, shouting at him. He had dark circles under his eyes and a unshaven face that's seen some rough times. I could hear his voice through the door, but the words were too garbled to understand. Feeble Charlie looked as comprehending as I felt about the situation. He kept shaking his head, apparently denying whatever the man was accusing, and waving his hands in the air in surrender. The man hadn't noticed me entering, and for that I was glad. This wasn't my problem.

That notion immediately left me guilty. I shouldn't be glad of getting away from imminent trouble, but what could I have done, anyways? Another victim?

I started to edge back up the stairs. I wasn't going to get involved. And there were no witnesses to prove that I was there.

Even as I thought that, I realized I was wrong. Right at that moment, Charlie looked towards the door, out the window, and saw me crouched on the stairs, hiding behind the railing. My heart skipped a beat as his eyes widened in realization, and opened his mouth to say something.

The man noticed that Charlie was focused on something else, stopped yelling, and turned to look at what Charlie was looking at.

I scrambled up the rest of the way before he could see me. As soon as I was out of sight, I pressed my back against the wall and waited for something to happen. Did he see me? Was he going to come out and track me down?

But nothing of the sort occurred. I waited there for a full minute and listened as the yelling resumed. I let out a big whoosh of breath before slinking up the next flight of stairs. Then I scrambled up the next nine floors like a monkey on steroids.

Mom already had supper ready by the time I burst through the door and slammed it behind me. She looked up, startled at my entrance, a milk jug in hand. "About time you got here. I was starting to get worried. How did that test go?"

Oh, crap. She knew about that?

I looked around, unable to meet her gaze. I dropped my backpack by the door, approaching the dinner table even though I didn't want to. "Who told you about that?"

"Gwen did. She called about half an hour ago. You didn't tell me you skipped school."

_Gwen._ I should've known. I didn't know what I was going to say now. "Yeah…I was going to tell you about that. Eventually."

"Hmm. Sure you were," Mom said, setting the milk on the table and crossing her arms. I winced, biting my lip. I knew I was in for a dinner that came with a side of lecture. "And when would that be? After you fail the class?"

"N-no," I stumbled over my words. I didn't want to talk about this. I just wanted to eat, do my homework, and figure out what was wrong with me. Maybe find a solution, if I could. "I was…I mean, I finished it. I did. I read the plays and I did the test. It wasn't that bad, Mom."

Mom eyed me as I sat in my seat. I still couldn't look at her, choosing to stare at my spaghetti and meatballs instead. "It's not the grade that worries me right now, but we'll talk about that later. Why didn't you tell me that you ran away? Amy, look at me. I don't like being out of the loop like this, okay?"

"This isn't acceptable, Amy. I know English isn't your best class, but running away isn't the answer. Now, eat your dinner. I'm disappointed that Gwen knows you better than I do."

The dinner was eaten in silence, which I was initially thankful for, despite the awkward mood. I knew Mom was watching me, waiting for me to finally look up and say something, admit the truth. But I kept silent.

I thought I was scot-free until someone knocked on our door. Mom opened it to discover a policeman on the other side. Apparently, as he said, Charlie was assaulted by a man in a black coat, who disappeared an hour ago without a trace. Apparently, he thought he had seen me.

I tried to appear as innocent as possible. The policeman wasn't there for long, but the short time he was there was torture. He asked me a bunch of questions. Mostly about the man's description, if there was anything interesting about him. All I could remember, besides the coat and scruffy beard, were the scars on his cheek. The policeman also wanted to know why I hadn't done something. Not so much as intervene so much as actually get help. I admitted that I was too scared. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mom close her eyes, pressing her lips into a thin line.

When the policeman finally left, Mom had sat down on the couch, her lips pursed in thought. I knew what was coming. The discussion before dinner was only a prelude to now.

"Amy, sit down," she said.

The only place I could was beside her, and I wasn't sure if I wanted to be so close at the moment. I couldn't say anything. I didn't want to.

"Why didn't you do anything?" Mom looked at me, furrowing her brow. Her voice was soft. I expected her to be yelling, but Mom never yells. She was better than that. "Charlie needed help. You were the only one there."

"I was scared," I whispered, unable to focus on anything. Things just felt like one big blur. I didn't know what to look at.

"Amy, you think I don't know that? Being scared is a natural reaction. But running away?" Mom ran a hand through her hair, which was still messy from a day waitressing. "This is the same thing with school, with the test. Geez, Amy, we've been over this before!"

The pressure that had been inside my head that day in the bathroom was back again. I squeezed my eyes shut, pressing my palm to my temple, willing it to go away. But it grew, and Mom's lecture didn't help. "What did you think I was going to do? I'm not a hero, Mom."

The noise aggravated me. It was probably why I chose to argue instead of reason, definitely not one of my smarter decisions. Mom, understandably, did not react well to that. "Amy, it's not about being the hero! You could've called the police. You didn't have to intervene. What, did you think the problem would just go away if you left it alone?"

I didn't answer that.

"You can't act like that. It's unacceptable. If you see something like that, Amy, then it's your responsibility to fix it anyway you can."

The pain in my head was starting to pound, so much that it was difficult to think of anything else beyond that. I couldn't bear the pressure inside my head. It was a tire filled with too much air, and the air wasn't stopping. I felt like I was going to explode. Mom thought my silence was me ignoring her.

"Seeing the problem and not doing anything about it is almost as bad as the problem itself. Or crime, as it were. You can't be apathetic. You need to do something. It's your responsibility. You understand that, right, Amy?"

Shaking. My hands were starting to shake. My radar was going haywire, flickering in and out of function. Mom's voice started to fade out a bit. I was aware of the ceramic bowl in front of me, vibrating like a tuning fork.

"Amy!" Mom seemed to have had enough of my silence. "Look at me!"

"No!"

_KRISHH!_

The bowl exploded.

Ceramic shards flew everywhere, a radius that spanned the room. Mom and I cried out simultaneously. My hands flew up to my face to protect it, debris slashing into my arms. Mom ducked away, turning her head towards the pillow.

I peeked through my fingers as the shards tingled to the floor. I was aware of pieces in my hair on my clothes. The spot where there bowl used to be was the one place that was devoid of actual mess. Mom looked up, wild-eyed, brushing off the clay dust from her apron. She looked at me and I looked at her.

"Go to bed. Now."

I didn't even question it. I got up, the pieces falling to the floor, and went straight to my room. I could only think of one thing.

Had I done that?

I closed the door behind me, pressing my back against the wood. My radar was still here, but it felt…clearer, for some reason. Like I had been looking through foggy glass and now suddenly someone wiped it away. I could feel their weight and texture from afar. Even the walls, the inner foundation, were there. Suddenly, the objects just weren't _around_ me, but a _part_ of me.

My eyes focused on the first thing they landed on. My clock, on my bedside table. I could feel it, inside my head. The metal smooth and cold. It was like I was touching it, even though I was all the way across the room. It was _right there_.

It was almost as if I could _move_ it…

That pressure returned, the headache from before. The clock wobbled, as if a faint gush of air pushed on it. Then it tipped, crashing to the floor.

The noise made me jump almost to the ceiling. I grasped at the doorknob, almost opening the door to run out before I stopped myself half-way. I turned back to look at the clock. It was still there, in my mind. I could feel the knobs in the back, the part that was facing upwards now.

I imagined visible hands reaching across the distance between me and the clock, picking it up and placing it back onto the table. The pressure in my head increased. I stopped breathing when the clock actually returned, right side up, to the table – all on its own.

I slumped to the floor, staring at the clock. Was this real? Did I really just…_do_ that?

I had a migraine from the effort, but I focused on the open window. I felt the wooden sides, the flaky paint, it's rough edges. But now it wasn't just there, but I imagined force being applied to the top, pushing the window down into place. I watched as it moved before me, sliding and creaking slowly down until it sealed.

I had to use my desk for support to get back on my feet again. The…whatever I did…with the window left me breathless, wiped out. Yeah, running three blocks? Piece of cake. Closing a window without touching it? Suddenly I couldn't take in enough air.

Why was this happening? _How_ was this happening? Although a part of me was exhilarated with the discovery, the other was horrified. What did it mean? What was happening to me? What was _going_ to happen to me? I wanted this to stop. Why wouldn't my life just stay normal, unassuming, completely ordinary?

It's like I had no control over anything. There was nothing I could do. I didn't even know where this came from….

Wait.

I realized something.

_SYNDICON._

I had completely forgotten about the broken vial. The thing I picked up from the bus three days ago. Where was it now? I couldn't remember where I had placed it. It had slipped my mind, what with school and Astor and dying and all that.

Astor. Oh, no.

I tweaked out. I scrambled towards my trashcan, recalling where I had thrown the glass pieces away. Hands shaking, I picked them out then raced to my mirror, almost hurting myself in the process. Hopping on one foot while trying to ignore the stubbed toe, I set the broken vial on the bureau, ripped off my shirt, and looked up at my reflection.

Haphazard hair, crazy eyes, pale face. The rash, dried skin now and peeling in weird places, made it worse. I looked like some sort of thing that walked off the streets, a weird creature. Untamed. Wild.

I scratched at the dry skin, suddenly in a rage. This was the cause of all the change, wasn't it? The sign that things had gone wrong. Why didn't I notice it before? I should've gone to a doctor, told Mom, something. I was such an idiot! Now I was a mess, a crazy mess, out of control and unable to get it back. I couldn't be like this! It wasn't fair!

Removing the dry skin, I discovered new skin underneath. Completely healed, unblemished skin. I turned around, looking over my shoulder to see my back in the mirror, which only showed me that the bash into the wall and whatever torment Astor's been giving me for the past six years had disappeared in a matter of three days.

When my back was clean, I went to the rest. I scratched at my arms and my legs, trying to get rid of the remnants of whatever that awful rash was. Again, like before, the skin underneath was brand new and perfectly fine. Where I should have gotten bruises from walking in the streets, I had perfectly untouched skin. I couldn't even find the spots were it hurt anymore. The cuts on the back of my neck weren't even there anymore. It was just…gone.

My brain was suddenly going a million miles an hour, connecting pieces and retracing my steps. The vial. Whatever was inside it, it got into me, somehow, through the broken skin. My spine, or whatever. I had an allergic reaction, my body fighting the alien substance, but whatever it was, it took over. It made me…different.

The grey substance gave me endurance. It gave me the radar sense. The…moving-things -without-touching-them ability. What did they call it? Uh, telepathy? No, that's like mind reading. Wait, telekinesis. That's it. That's what you called it. I had that now. And a newfound toughness, apparently.

But…_SYNDICON_? I didn't even know what that was. Was that was the grey stuff was called, or was it the name of its creator? Or a company? It had to mean something.

I reopened my window when I was done, picking up the mess I made on the floor and throwing it out the window, because it was super gross and there was no way Mom would react well to finding it.

Oh, Mom. What was I going to tell her? What could I say? That I had suddenly developed superpowers overnight? I don't think so.

I shut the window and collapsed on my bed. The sun was setting now, somewhere behind those huge buildings and skyscrapers, were the bigwigs lived. I sighed into my pillow. The policeman's questions and Mom's lecture left me exhausted and all that mind power stuff? Doubly so.

Before I finally decided to go to sleep, I put on pajamas and brushed my teeth. I didn't hear anything from Mom for the rest of the night. I tried to read to get my mind off of the recent events, but it wasn't working as well as I'd hoped. A little restless, I got up to check on Mom. A part of me wanted to say something about my actions, something that could make this all better somehow.

I had made it all the way down the hallway before I stopped myself. Mom was in front of me, sitting on the couch, watching TV in the darkness. It was a Sitcom, but she wasn't laughing. She hadn't noticed me coming in, and after a second of thought, I slipped back into the shadows, too embarrassed to say anything.

I eventually fell asleep reading the book, forgetting to turn off the light. My dreams were strange, although in retrospect they were perhaps the most normal things for me at the time. A lot of it was me just flying. So high I could barely see the ground, the sky filled with blues and purples. It felt so amazing, and for once I felt happy.

I didn't know if I was a bird or a plane or Superman. All that mattered was the wind and the freedom and just _away_ from everyone I knew.

Then the feeling went away. I didn't understand it at first, because everything was still as it was. It took me a moment to realize I was falling, the ground coming fearfully close, and I couldn't stop myself. Just falling, faster and faster. Nothing I could do to stop myself, it just –

I woke up just before I hit the ground, my heart thumping like a rabbit's leg. I looked around, gasping ragged breaths, before realizing it was pitch black. I didn't realize it right away, of course, since my radar sense could still tell where everything was. But I turned to the light and flicked the switch. I frowned. The plug was still in. Had the power gone out?

That was when I heard a crash in the kitchen. I actually _knew_ it was in the kitchen. Heavy feet pounding against the ground, nothing like my mother's soft footsteps.

Fear took me. I clutched at my covers, trying to think of what to do. There was a phone in the Mom's room, but I didn't know if I could reach it without getting someone's attention.

I heard the succession of three plates shattering on the floor. If Mom wasn't already out of bed by now, that would have done it. Mom hated breaking plates, considering they were gifts from her grandmother. I was still deciding whether or not to move, trying to calculate how long it'd take me to reach Mom's room.

What finally got me out of bed was a scream.

I ripped the covers off my legs, hitting the ground with both feet. "Mom!"

I burst through the door, heading straight down the hall into the kitchen. A man was there, struggling with two other guys holding someone down, someone who was kicking and screaming, knocking things over and making as much noise as possible.

Strangely, I noticed the entry door was broken down before I realized that the person they were trying to hold down was Mom. In that moment, I everything I did was pure instinct, rational thought just turning off.

"Amy! Run!"

For some reason, I didn't do that. I don't know why, but at that moment, I realized running wasn't an option. I didn't want Mom to get hurt.

I lunged forward, wrapping my arms around the neck of one man who had my mother's arms pinned. I slammed both feet into the nearby counter, ripping him away from her. We crashed into the ground. I rolled out of the way just in time before he could crush me underneath.

I was up again in a second, the world seeming to run in slow motion. Another man had come up from behind me, having picked up one of the fallen knifes on the ground, and lunged at me. Mom was still screaming when I ducked out the way, sensing his approach on my radar before I saw it. My flailing arm banged against one of the frying pans hanging on the way, and in a moment of inspiration I ripped it off its hook and swung it as hard as I could.

_GOONNG!_

The wrought iron pan collided with the armed man's head, sending him to the floor in a motionless heap. I turned towards Mom once more, who seemed to be a little stunned that I just knocked out a man with her prized pan. "Amy, get out of here! Get help!"

Two arms on either side had grabbed me before I could reach Mom, jerking me back with such a force that I got whiplash. I cried out, kicking and struggling against two men bigger than I've ever seen before. What I did hardly made any effect. I twisted my arm, trying to wriggle out of one man's grasp, but his hands only tightened. I gasped as he wrenched my arm behind my back, pulling it at an angle it wasn't meant to be in.

They slammed me into the wall, my head smashing into a picture frame. The world went white with stars and I was aware of a distant screaming. Yet I felt no pain, so the still conscious part of my brain was telling me nothing was wrong.

When my sight and hearing returned, I was aware of being pressed into the floor with the sound of Mom's begging filling the space. I heard a man yelling, his voice strangely familiar. I forced myself to focus, to look beyond the arms that were pinning me down into the scene in the kitchen, where a man stood over my mother and her tear-streaked face.

The man. I recognized him.

Black coat. Three-day-old beard. Two scars on his cheek.

No. It couldn't be.

I didn't even wonder if Mom realized he was the man I had seen with Charlie. All I could register was the fact that I could sense a loaded gun in his pocket, and the only thing I could think of was him using it on my mother.

That brought a surge of energy into my body. I jerked with sudden movement all at once, kicking at the face of the man hovering over me. My heel met cartilage and I felt it break underneath. The man shouted incomprehensibly, jerking back, hands flying to his now bloodied face.

The other man holding me down was caught by surprise. I managed to slip out of his grasp, ducking under his restraining arm, and was about to attack the man in the black coat, who had turned when I knocked out his first man.

I was already in mid-flight when he whipped out his gun and swung it towards me. I could do nothing to protect myself as the metal clouted me on the side of my head, bring me down once more.

My mom screamed again. Oh, god, the screaming. Ringing filled my ears and my radar disappeared. I felt numb all over, my head feeling empty and hollow. The pressure was in my head again and I couldn't think past it.

I heard the man in the black coat order something to the men who were still standing. I was defenseless as I was hauled back up, pulled away from the kitchen.

I didn't start panicking until I saw Mom disappear behind the corner, calling my name, before I started to scream too.

I began to fight again, but I had no way to prepare myself when he pulled me into my wrong and slammed me back. I thought I would crash into my bed or on the floor.

I had no idea that the window was right behind me.

The glass shattered instantaneously. I heard a scream, but I had no idea if it was my own or not.

The last thing I remembered was watching the window recede as I met open air. It was almost beautiful, how the glass shards twirled in midair, moving so slowly. On the other side of the window, the man who threw me had his arms still splayed from the push, his face pulled into a bloody grimace.

Then the world turn back and suddenly I could see the sky. But it was an ugly color. I couldn't see the stars.

I closed my eyes, wishing that wasn't the last thing I saw.

Then I fell.


	6. Chapter 6: Miracles

**Sorry for the long wait, I've had other things keeping me busy. Life and all. This chapter isn't long, but the next will be better. Anyways, enjoy =)  
**

**Read and review, please!  
**

* * *

**Chapter Six**

**Miracles**

I never remembered hitting the ground.

At ten flights up, the doctor's had said, I should've turned to jelly on impact. It was a miracle I survived at all, much less intact. Any memory loss was to be expected.

I did recall feeling cold concrete beneath me, the faces of bystanders standing over me. Most were covering their mouths, shaking their heads at the apparent loss. But I when I tried to open my mouth and tell them that my mother was still up there, still needed help, they gasped and jumped away. Several of them screamed and ran.

A man bent down at my side, his hand resting on my shoulder. I couldn't feel it. I remembered him saying something. "Don't worry, I'm a doctor. Just stay with me, okay? You're going to be all right…"

I didn't have the strength to stay awake. I closed my eyes, wishing that someone would help Mom.

Things faded in and out after that. I was aware of a severe rocking, blaring sirens that hurt my ears and an engine that clashed painfully with my radar. When I opened my eyes, the edges of my vision were blurry, and if I moved too fast, people and objects just turned into shapes. Different people were standing over me now, one holding a mask to my face, another checking the instruments above my head. The words 'life support' and 'keep her breathing' were often used.

In the upper right corner I saw the doctor from the street, telling me encouraging words and holding my hand. He said for me to hang on for a little longer, that I'll be okay soon. Just repeating the same phrases over and over again. I didn't see Mom anywhere. Did they check to see if she was safe?

I closed my eyes and the noises changed. The rocking ceased, to be changed by the sensation of G-force as I was sped along on another structure with wheels.

My radar couldn't keep up. I cracked open my eyes. I was on a gurney. White and blue walls rushed by in a blur of flashes as the same doctor and two new nurses took me to some unknown destination. The doctor seemed to be riding on the gurney while the nurses pushed. My thoughts were incomprehensible, but I was vaguely glad that he was there. He was something consistent that I could focus on.

The next time I opened my eyes, I was resting in a different cot. Nothing was moving and I was alone. The room was bare except for a bedside table with some flowers and water, and a TV on the opposite wall. There was a window looking over the street to my right; A closed door to my left, but I wasn't at the right angle to see anything out of it.

While I waited for someone to come around, I assessed my current physical situation. I was so delirious from drugs that it took me a full five minutes to understand what I saw. My right arm was in a sling, an IV in my left, and a burning sensation somewhere along my scalp. At the time I had no idea how I had gotten there or what I had done to get myself so badly hurt, but it came to me within the next ten minutes.

By the time a nurse came around, I was in tears.

I couldn't read her nametag, but she looked nice enough. She came to the side of my bed and wrote down some notes, asking me basic questions as to how I was feeling physically and emotionally and if I remembered anything that happened. Then she asked if I was hungry, and promised to return with some food.

She didn't say anything about my mother.

She came back with my food (now she was close enough for me to read her nametag, which just said _Nurse – Heather_) and took it away when I was done eating, reminding me to pace myself and eat small bites. I fell back asleep almost immediately after she left.

It wasn't very helpful, thanks to the pain medication altering my brain, but my inner clock told me I couldn't have been here for more than a few days. Still, no one spoke to me, no one visited. I felt incredibly alone.

At one point the doctor came in (who referred to himself as Mosby, which I assumed was his last name), and this time accompanied by a police officer. Then I realized it wasn't a police officer. It was Captain Stacy.

I was so glad to see a familiar face I almost cried. He smiled a gentle smile, which was the most reassurance I had that things would be okay.

"Miss Fletcher, this is –" Dr. Mosby started to say, but Captain Stacy just held up his hand and said, "It's all right, she already knows who I am."

Dr. Mosby paused, considering the implied notion of that statement, then turned to Stacy with a question clearly in his mind. The Captain quickly added, "She's a friend of my daughter, doctor. Not a criminal."

"Oh," Dr. Mosby nodded, then ushered himself out of the room.

"How are you feeling, Amy?" Captain Stacy took a seat in the chair next to my bedside table. He had no pen or pad in his hands, but I wasn't an idiot. Even on drugs, I knew why he was here. "I heard you had a bad fall."

I didn't know if that was a joke or not. Things sounded weird in the hospital. I shrugged, which turned out to be a bad idea. A jolt of pain shot up my shoulder. I winced and said, "Yeah. I'm doing…better than before."

"Good. I'm glad. What do you remember from that night?"

I told the story, everything that had happened that night, from the moment I woke up in my room to the part where I was thrown out a window and found myself surrounded by strangers. Captain Stacy remained silent for most of the time, just nodding and asking a question on some detail every now and again. When I was finally done, I asked, "My mom. Where is she? What happened to her? Is she all right?"

It came out in a garbled rush, but Captain Stacy understood what I said. Dread clutched my heart when he didn't answer immediately, just glanced down at his shoes for a moment before finally looking back up at me. "She's gone, Amy. Disappeared. Whoever attacked you took her with them. As of yet, no ransom's been made. We're looking, Amy, but we have no idea where they went. I was hoping you had seen something important."

I went over the events again in my head. Important. What had been important? I knew I was missing something…

"The man in the black coat!" I blurted, almost jumping out of my gurney. "He was there. He had a gun. He was the one harassing Charlie, our landlord, earlier that day. I didn't realize…I mean, I would have…If I'd known…"

"I know, Amy." Captain Stacy said, nodding. He stood up slowly, looking weary and suddenly very, very old. He was never a man I thought of as old until now. "You would have done something, if you could have. We all would."

But I didn't.

I watched him leave, a sick feeling in my stomach. I had to convince myself not to puke because right then Gwen burst in. I was almost too exhausted to smile, but it felt wrong if I didn't.

"Oh, my god, Amy, when Dad told me you were in the hospital, I just couldn't –" Gwen's words came out in a huge rush, and she stumbled over her words in her attempt to say them all at once. "I – I…well, I didn't know what to think! A-a-and then the doctors told me that you fell out a window in your apartment – and I know you lived on the tenth floor, so I, I just – I mean, that's over a hundred feet! The doctors think you're some sort of miracle kid –"

She noticed the look on my face and stopped mid-sentence. "Oh, right. I guess you already know about that. Sorry."

"It's all right. I haven't seen a familiar face in a while. I'm glad you're here."

"But," Gwen flopped into the chair her dad was in only a minute before. "How…?"

I almost shrugged my shoulders again, but caught myself before I could. "I – I don't know. It's like the doctors keep saying. Miracles."

"_Still_." Gwen just shook her head. "I mean, even when Peter got that spider bite at ESU…well, it wasn't like he fell off a ten story building. I swear, this has been one of the _weirdest_ weeks I've had."

I frowned and stared at where my feet were hidden under the covers. Weird wasn't exactly the word I would have used.

She seemed to realize what she said a second too late. Flushing, Gwen looked down at her shoes and said, "Sorry. I didn't – I mean, I wasn't thinking, I just…um, about your mom, I – I promise that Dad's gonna do his best. I swear, if there's anything I can do –"

"No, it's…" well, I didn't want to say 'all right' but there wasn't a lot of other options that would've fit the sentence. "…what did I miss at school?"

The question surprised Gwen, apparently not anticipating the change in subject. She seemed to understand what I was trying to do, so nodded and replied, "Well, three-days-worth of homework. English, mostly. She's been laying it on pretty thick, but I'm sure you can get an extension. I mean, I don't understand why you wouldn't…are you actually going to do the work this time?"

The way Gwen said it was almost rude, and she flushed again. I don't know what the proper etiquette is between patient and visitor, but I had the feeling that this might have been toeing the line. I didn't blame Gwen, though. It was an honest question, and I surprised myself with my answer.

"Yeah. Yeah, I think so. It's not like…it's not like I have anything better to do." I murmured. The drugs were starting to catch up to me and I could feel sleep pulling at my eyes. The colors in the room started to blur together. I could see Gwen getting up from her seat, but I was too numb to react. "Hnnn…"

"Yeah, you should probably sleep," I heard Gwen say, now unable to see her. I didn't even hear the door close before I drifted off.

OoOoO

"So, let me get this straight," the boss in the high-back seat looked at his second in command, not so much angry as bewildered, although yes, he was still pretty angry. Not even the best laid plans could overcome chance or so-called 'miracles'. "You had the girl thrown out the window, and she _still_ makes it out alive with only a few broken bones? I'm beginning to fear you don't understand the meaning of 'no witnesses'."

He knew full-well the girl's survival was no fault of the assassin, but that didn't mean the boss was fine with that. Witnesses, no matter how young or old, strong or feeble, was still a witness. Someone out there had seen the crime committed, and now the boss feared he would suffer for it. This was unacceptable.

"Boss, look, the girl's not going to be much of a threat," The assassin was desperate to make his case. It would only be too easy for Boss to find a new lackey to kill for him. "I told you how easy it was for my men to subdue her. Hell, she's still comatose in the hospital. It would be all too easy to finish the job there –"

"No!" the Boss snapped, and the assassin ducked his head. The Boss muttered something under his breath, nonsensical growls, before saying, "Haven't you seen the news? Captain Stacy, head of the New York Police Department, is heading this case. Now, do you think he got there by being stupid? Of course not! If she dies, then we've all but hammered the last nail in the coffin. It will only confirm what he suspects. So she lives. Besides, she's a nobody. Nobody cares for a nobody."

The assassin nodded. "All right, so, what next? You have the piece you wanted, what are you going to do with it?"

"Nothing." The boss said, surprising the assassin. "For now. The news alone, what with the girl's survival, will draw out our old friend. Eventually, he'll come. Until then, keep the dame comfortable and out of the way."  
"Wouldn't it just make more sense to kill her?"

"And destroy our own bargaining chip? Son, don't tell me you've never heard of a ransom before."

The assassin was offended by the accusation and opened his mouth to snap back a reply, but his boss was already speaking again. "They both live, end of story. Besides, we have a bigger problem to worry about. Have you ever heard of Syndicon?"

"The bio-tech company? What about it?" The assassin tried to second guess what his boss was getting at; he's killed upstart scientists before, but never inside a company as large and prominent as Syndicon. Not to mention their incredibly unique and complex security system that couldn't be found anywhere else in the world. Even the Pentagon envied them.

"Let's just say they're about to make an investment that would be…unwise for their executives if they wish to keep their seats of power." The boss chose his words carefully. While he didn't doubt the reliability of his favored red hand, the boss couldn't reveal too much information without jeopardizing his business. He couldn't take the chance that his assassin would fail the job. "I want you to take care of that. But not _you_ – this job can't be seen as a high-class act of murder. Make it look like an accident. And hire someone that'll do a sloppy job."

That stunned the assassin. Sloppy jobs meant clues that could be traced to the killer. Even if he _wasn't_ doing the dirty part, it could still be led back to him through a cowardly thug. "W-_why_? How can I trust some nobody to get it done right?"

"Money, dear boy," the boss chuckled, before reaching under his desk and withdrawing another silver case, much like the one lost a week ago. This time, however, its contents consisted of packs of unchecked bills. "A desperate man will do whatever he has to for this. I've seen the what our human consciousness is capable of, how low a man or woman will go to get their hands on what they want, how they will throw compassion and reason aside to complete their own greedy endeavors. Ah, to see the mighty fall from their pedestal of moral good. It's a dog-eat-dog world out there, my friend, and I intend to make the most of it."

The assassin took the case of cash, knowing full well what his boss was talking about. He'd seen good men turn to savages for things like this. It was like watching a loyal dog turn on its friend and master. Families rip each other apart. The assassin, however, did not appreciate this wicked form of selfishness – not the way his boss did.

His boss pulled out a picture from his drawer and showed the assassin his next target. "Another dame, boss?"

"You'll be surprised how much things have changed since the old days, my friend. But don't worry, she won't put up much of a fight."

"Right, boss, I'll find your man," the assassin replied, taking a step back. He wanted to get this job over and done with as soon as possible, but he was dismayed when the man in the seat disagreed.

"No, son. Wait for the air to clear. I want to keep this as inconspicuous as possible. Good things come to those who wait."

The assassin tried his best to not show his disgruntlement. While, yes, patience was indeed a valued trait to those in the killing game, that didn't mean he had to like it. He feared that the longer he waited, the higher the probability of something going wrong. It was an assassin's worst nightmare to watch a carefully laid plan fall apart in front of his eyes. "Okay, boss. I'll take my time. Get the plan perfect."

"Good. I'll be watching the obituaries."


	7. Chapter 7: Guilt

**Sorry this came long, I had writer's block and I didn't know what I wanted to happen in this chapter. I wanted to emphasize her depression but not keep it going too long that the story would get boring *cough*New Moon*cough* and get to actual superhero stuff quicker. **

**So transitions!  
**

**Anyways, enjoy. Also, I would love some reviews/critiques. Please and thank you!**

* * *

**Chapter Seven**

**Guilt**

"Hey, look, there's the Freak!" I heard someone say behind me.

I concentrated on the contents of my locker, focusing in on the owner of that voice through my radar. Nope, the radar hadn't gone away, even after a week since the accident. It was here to stay, and I decided I might as well get used to it.

My first guess was that the declaration got catalyzed from my arrival to school. I hadn't been here since the…event. My absence hadn't gone unnoticed, and I made it all the more prominent from the still-sore cut on my head and the big blue sling supporting my arm. But since being picked on wasn't unusual in the average day, I had gotten used to ignoring it.

I underestimated the suddenly heightened sense of hearing I had gained recently, and found myself distracted by the whispered conversation on the other end of the hall.

"_I heard she had to be held down by the nurses whenever she had a panic attack_," one of the voices whispered, a girl I didn't know. I could have easily assumed it was one of Astor's clones, but she didn't have the muscle development that was required to be on the Field Hockey team.

"_Really?_" her friend asked, sounding as though panic attacks were like getting inoperable brain cancer. "_Because my mom said people go to shrinks for stuff like that. Maybe she has severe trauma or something._"

You think?

A boy, this time, donated his own two cents in the rumor-sharing. "_You think so? Matt told me she had to get the arm amputated after the fall, and she's hiding the prosthetic inside the sling. I think she's afraid of being called the Cyborg._"

The Cyborg, really? That's the best they could come up with?

(Actually, that sounded a lot better than the Freak. The only problem is I didn't want to earn it through losing an arm. Which I didn't, by the way.)

To be honest, there was a little bit of truth in their rumors. I mean, not the Cyborg part. But I _did_ have to see a shrink (therapist was a kinder word for it) and I probably _would_ have had a panic attack if I wasn't so heavily medicated that trying to lift my arm made me want to pass out. Hell, that's _why_ they put people under medication, so they _don't_ go absolutely nuts.

I actually hadn't seen my shrink – err, therapist – since the hospital, and the memory was hazy at best. I couldn't actually remember his face, or if he was even actually a guy. I'd find out soon enough, anyways, since my next appointment was today right after school.

Behind me, the other kids were still whispering.

"_Guys, here comes Astor Sloane!_"

"_Oh, man. What do you think she'll do to the Freak?_"

"_I don't know. Maybe she'll get her to leave again, like the last time_."

I grit my teeth and slammed my locker door shut. I didn't want to have to deal with Astor today, not when I just got back to school. I was trying to stay under Astor's notice until I found some sense of normality in my life. But knowing Astor, that wasn't going to happen.

Tracy Johnson gladly pointed out my presence to my arch nemesis as approached. "Hey, Astor, check it out. The Freak's back, and check it – she's gimped!"

I thought being gimped meant I had a busted leg, which was one injury I did not maintain. But whatever. I was still handicapped and that just made me an easier target.

I turned towards the center of the hall, avoiding eye contact with the incoming field hockey star. I adjusted my pile of books in my arms, hoping she wouldn't try to knock them to the ground, because they'd be hell to pick back up again. Carrying books was awkward when one of your arms was in a sling, but I tried to make do with balancing them on my knees and building up my right biceps.

I kept a slow pace, since running wasn't an option in the crowded hallways, but felt my hackles rise when Astor drew nearer. Then passed right by me without as much as a glance.

I stared after her. She didn't even look at me. Why?

Tracy seemed equally as confused. "Uh, _amiga_, you missed her. She's right there. She's even got a huge pile of books!"

"So?" Astor sneered, not even following Tracy's pointing finger. "She's got a broken arm, loser, can't you see that? Just leave her alone."

I still couldn't believe what I heard, and I was mulling it over several hours later after school. It's just…Astor's never once denied a chance to take me down. Well, maybe she held back that one time in gym class, but that was because I was sick and didn't put up a fight. She probably didn't want to catch what I had, anyways.

Maybe I shouldn't have been surprised. I've never seen her pick on people with crutches or wheelchairs – although that could have been because I was never around when it happened. Astor just liked to mess with people, no matter who they were. I don't know why she gets her kicks out of it. Maybe she likes seeing what happens when she does.

I mean, it's Astor. The only thing you could predict about her was that the punches she threw hurt. A lot.

I took a cab from school to Midtown Clinic, where the therapist's office was, a deviation from my usual routine of going to the library. I realized I hadn't seen Eddie for an entire week. Did he even remember if I existed? If I went back later, sometime during the week, would be around like he said he would?

Even if he was, I didn't want to see him. Not in the state I was in, after what had happened. It's just not something you'd want to deal with around some guy you've only talked to once. Like, maybe after I didn't feel like my life had just fallen apart and I wasn't allowed to go my real home anymore because it was still technically a crime scene.

The secretary at the desk looked up when I pushed my way through the double doors. She frowned when I gave my name, saying, "You're late for your appointment, Miss Fletcher."

I just shrugged, because school ended late and I promised Gwen that I'd never ditch class again.

She sighed, pointing the way down the hall to my right. "All right, down the hall, third door on your left. Dr. Kindell should already be waiting for you."

As I made my way, I tried to concentrate on how wonderfully peaceful the watercolor paintings on the wall were. The place was filled with warm pastels that made me feel safe, something I found refreshing compared to the bland, impersonal white walls of the hospital.

The door to Dr. Kindell's office was closed, but my radar informed me that it wasn't empty. The doc was here, just like the secretary said.

I don't know why I felt annoyed by this. Then I realized I had been hoping there wouldn't be anyone here, so I could just leave and not have to deal with this.

But I had made a promise to myself and mom that I would face my problems. I wasn't here for my sake, but for her.

This reassured me and I got myself to relax. Taking a deep breath, I reached out for the doorknob and entered the room.

It was a small office. A desk, three chairs, and a wall of bookcases. There was a single window overlooking the parking lot. The tile turned to carpet underneath my feet and I closed the door behind me.

The doctor sat in his seat. Somehow, his gender surprised me. Maybe I just expected women to be more likely as therapists then men. I don't know. He couldn't have been more than late twenties, early thirties at the most. He had short brown hair and a smart vest and tie, looking more like a corporate official than someone I poured my innermost secrets to. A part of me was glad he wasn't creepy looking, because then coming here every week would be kind of awkward. And by 'kind of awkward' I mean 'not happening at all.'

As I sat in one of the two seats in front of the desk, I was overcome with a sense of déjà vu, and I tried to figure out why he looked so familiar.

Dr. Kindell looked up as I entered, smiling and welcoming me. "Good afternoon, Miss Fletcher. I'm pleased you decided to come."

It was his voice that made everything click. I actually gasped when he spoke.

He was understandably confused. "What's wrong?"

"It's you!" I stared at him, my jaw hanging. "You're the guy who – who was in the alley! You were in the ambulance. I thought you said you were a doctor!"

"I _am_ a doctor," Dr. Kindell seemed a little miffed that I doubted his medical prowess. "I have a degree. I just don't wear scrubs to work or use scalpels to get inside my patients heads."

"Oh," I sat back in my seat, deflated. For some reason, I felt disappointed. A part of me had been expecting some dramatic reason, something worthy of soap operas, but that was probably my overactive imagination. Oh well. "What were you doing there?"

Dr. Kindell paused before answering, "I'm not allowed to share personal information. It breaks the boundaries between employee and patient."

I frowned. "But the police know, right?"

Dr. Kindell held my gaze, his brow furrowing. "Where are you going with this?"

I realized how creepy I sounded and backpedaled fast. "Sorry. I don't know. I'm just…I don't know."

I sounded so dumb, it seemed to earn me some sympathy and get me off the bad tracks towards awkwardness. He just smiled as if he understood. "It's all right. It's perfectly normal to have trust issues after a traumatic event."

"I don't have trust issues!" I blurted even though I knew he was right. Still, it kind of sounded like an insult. I crossed my arms, hoping to change the subject. "I don't even know why I have to be here."

"Court orders," Dr. Kindell said matter-of-factly. "It's mandatory."

"Because_ that_ makes me feel better."

"I'm not here to make you feel better."

I glanced at him, wary of saying anything stupid again. "But isn't that what you're supposed to do? You're a therapist. You…therapize."

He made a face at my made-up word, but shook his head anyways. "I'm not here to give you a confidence boost or make you happier in life. I'm here to help you cope and understand what you're feeling, as well as deal with any problems you deal with in the aftermath of your ordeal."

"Well, in that case, I'm feeling pretty angry," I said, trying to keep my voice level. Dr. Kindell just sounded so…so _calm_ and reassuring that it made me want to punch something. Who was he to think he could solve my problems? Could he find my mother? Because if he couldn't, then I had no reason to be here. "And my problem happens to be that my mom was kidnapped and nobody doesn't seem to know anything at all; I know it's been on the news but that doesn't mean it's helping the police find her, because I'm the only witness and I don't know anything either, so all I can do is just sit and wait and feel useless!"

I slowly lost control throughout the rant, my voice rising in pitch until I was practically yelling at him. I didn't even realize I was on my feet, hand planted on his desk, until I noticed he was still perfectly composed and unperturbed. He almost looked amused. "What?"

"It's perfectly normal to feel that way."

I threw my good hand up into the air. "I don't care! That doesn't help me find my mom!"

"Oh?" I was pretty sure he was taunting me now. I turned to the doctor, staring as he continued to say, "And what will? Retreating into yourself and becoming anti-social? Ignoring the help from your friends and family? Miss Fletcher, if you want help, you have to be open to it."

I was about to say 'I don't want their help' but caught myself. I'd be hypocritical for saying that, after just ranting on about how I had none of it in the first place. Dr. Kindell already had the upper hand in how human behavior worked. I didn't want to keep proving him right.

"It's not the help I need, though."

"_Any_ help is good help right now." He countered, folding his hands across the table. "It's okay to want to be alone, but I'd say right now is the best time for you to reach out for support. It's not worth to suffer this alone."

"But –"

"Listen to me, Miss Fletcher," Dr. Kindell leaned across the table, pinning me down with an earnest gaze. "I want you to reach out. You may want your mother, but you need your friends too. You may think people are ignoring your problem, but they're not. Let them help you. You can help others by not ignoring their problems."

I couldn't look into his face anymore. I turned away and glared at the window. "Can I go now?"

"Only if you promise to come back telling me how you've reached out to someone."

Anything to get me out of here. "Fine. I promise."

OoOoO

Okay, so I _might_ have lied to my therapist.

I wouldn't feel guilty about it until later; when I got home and had about have a dozen messages, all from Gwen, asking for me to pick up _the dang phone_. Only she didn't say 'dang'. But whatever.

In fact, I was already sitting on my bed, phone in hand and number in mind, when I stopped myself. What was I going to say? _Hey – sorry for completely ignoring you for a week during a hard time in my life? I just needed some alone time to sort out my thoughts_ – which clearly weren't that sorted out. And it just sounded so lame. Like what the out-of-touch-with-reality adults tell you to say

I put down and picked up the phone several times, going through phases of confidence and fear, trying to figure out what I should do.

Eventually, I got myself to press the numbers and push the call button, not hesitating in case I chickened out again. I brought the receiver to my ear and waited as the dial tone beeped.

It exactly once before someone picked up the phone. I opened my mouth to introduce myself, but Gwen beat me to it.

"_OmygodAmyI'msohappyyoucalled!_" she shouted in a huge rush. I yanked the phone away from my ear, wincing. "_Do you have any idea how worried I've been? I haven't talked to you in a whole week! Are you all right? You're not sick again, are you_?"

I took a deep breath before I answered, drawing the phone back to my ear. "No, Gwen, I'm fine. I was just feeling…lonely."

I wasn't going to tell her that my therapist told me to do this, that her concern guilted me into calling her and I felt like a total jerk now for avoiding her. Which, you know, was just _great _for my emotional state, what with what's already happened lately.

"_Jeez, I thought you'd never pick up the phone_." Gwen replied, sounding relieved, which in turn made me relax. "_I was afraid I'd have to go on over there myself just to talk to you. I know this is going to sound dumb of me for asking, but please tell me you're doing your schoolwork."_

"I passed in my English essay on time," I told her. In all the spare time I had not interacting with people, I had been doing all my homework and getting it in when it was due. It was a minor accomplishment I was proud of. "And I've been studying for the math quiz. But, um, I wanted some help. I think I missed something in class."

It was a lame attempt, but it worked nonetheless. Gwen sounded as though Christmas came early. "Of course I'll help! Look, I'll be there in ten, okay? Just don't try to run away again, please?"

That actually got me to smile. Laughing a little, I said, "Actually, I was thinking we could meet up at the Silver Spoon. I just want to be somewhere...different right now."

"Yeah, sure. I'll see you there, then."

Ending the line, I suddenly felt…_lighter_. Not exactly happy, but definitely not gloomy as before. I was _excited_ to study with my best friend. And I've never been happy about studying before. Like, ever.

Oh, man, she really was rubbing off on me. In a good way, at least.

I got up from my bed and reached for my backpack, checking its contents for my math textbook. It was then my radar picked up on someone standing just outside my door, close enough to have heard my conversation. Sitting back up, I called out, "Hello? Who's there?"

The door creaked open to reveal Aunt May's face. She smiled. "It's just me, dear. I'm glad you're finally doing something with your friends. Maybe you should ask Peter to come along."

I wasn't really digging the thought, but I didn't want to sound rude, either. "Uh, I think it's just a best friend sort of thing, Aunt May."  
She nodded like that made total sense. "All right. Just be home before dark, okay?"

"Got it."

Aunt May ducked her back out the door, and through the opening I watched as she continued down the hall. I promised to myself that later I'd try to talk to her more.

Getting to the Silver Spoon took two buses and a cab, but it was worth it. I could actually feel myself get excited as I watched the streets roll by outside my window. Until now, the locales I had been frequenting consisted of home and school, and that one trip to the doctor for a check-up. I haven't been to the Silver Spoon in weeks, and by the time I was at its door, I could already smell the cake and coffee.

I pushed through the door. Gwen was sitting in the back by the window and upon my entrance started to wave. I waved back and headed over. I realized I hadn't really changed into better clothes, or cleaned myself up, but I decided that doing this at all was better than nothing. Baby steps. I'll work on my appearance later.

"For a second I thought you'd chicken out," Gwen admitted as I sat down in the opposite seat. I just shrugged my shoulders, sliding my backpack off and setting it beside me. "Sorry."

"It's all right. I'm trying to do something different tonight." I glanced at the menu above the cashier's head. "They serve burgers here."

Gwen threw me a funny look and spoke in a 'no-duh' sort of way. "_Yeaaah_. You've eaten one before, remember?"

"Oh, that's right," I did not, in fact, remember, but I took her word for it anyways. Perhaps I had bigger things on my mind. "Okay, calculus. The quadratic formula – how does it go again?"

"Like this," Gwen took out a piece of paper and wrote it down, then slid it over to me. "The letters are variables that you fill in and the numbers are what you multiply them by, and _x_ will be the answer."

She showed me how to use it in on one of my problems, and had me do the worksheet by myself (no calculator – apparently, I needed to learn the multiplication table by heart) and then reviewed the answers when I was done. By the time Gwen had pointed out all my mistakes and helped me understand what I was doing wrong, it was already getting dark out. For a second, I thought I saw someone swinging between buildings, like an acrobat. It could only be Spider-Man.

It was only there for a split second, but I couldn't imagine it being anything else. I thought to myself for a bit before turning back to Gwen, who was reading a book while she waited for me to finish. "Gwen, why do you think Spider-Man is Spider-Man?"

She looked up at me over her glasses. "Uh, you mean why he chose a spider for a motif? Maybe it's to creep people out."

"No, I mean…_why_ he fights crime," I said, looking out the window again at the descending darkness. "I mean, who just decides one day to put on a red and blue leotard and chase around bad guys? For the heck of it?"

"Maybe you should just work on your math."

"I mean," I continued, not really hearing Gwen's reproachful tone. "I know the _Daily Bugle_ gives him a bad rep and paint him as a menace, but he can't be _that _bad, can he? Like, give the guy some credit. So long as he's not working for money or something, he's basically a hero for saving people's lives on his own dime."

"Why, you thinking turning into a superhero, too?" Gwen snorted, clearly joking. But she turned grave a moment later, her brow furrowing with confusion. "Amy…this isn't about your – your mom, is it? Because –"

"No!" I blurted. It was a half-lie, I guess. Not until she mentioned it did I think of becoming a superhero – I mean, actually think it as a serious life decision. Not that I was _now_, but suddenly having powers didn't seem like such a useless skill anymore –

No. No. No, you are _not_ turning into the next Spider-Man. You are _not_. Only crazy people risk their lives for strangers, for the city of New York. I mean, who knows? Maybe Spider-Man is a complete psycho who has some master plan to take over the world or something. The _Bugle_ couldn't be wrong _all_ the time, could they?

"No, that's not what this is about," I tried my best to reassure Gwen I wasn't going to don a mask and a pair of tights. Perhaps I tried too hard, because she was seriously starting to look worried. "I mean, I was speaking objectively. Of _course_ I'm not going to be a superhero. Look at me! Do I _look_ like hero material to you? I can't make myself work on an essay I really hate without someone's help. You think I'd somehow have the commitment to become a superhero? Be realistic. My body is _not_ made for crime fighting. I've got a bad arm, a head injury, and no endurance whatsoever. Please – I am _not_ going to be a hero."

Gwen eyed me carefully. "Sure. You know, I've been reading into psychology, and acts of revenge after a traumatic event isn't unusual –"

I had to interrupt her. "Please don't say that my reaction is perfectly normal for my situation. I got that from my therapist and the school nurse and half the doctors in the hospital. I know you're trying to help, but I want to – to _not_ think about what I'm feeling means."

"All right," Gwen's shoulders sagged, apparently disappointed that I wasn't going to listen to what she had learned. She sighed. "I won't deny you have a point. Just don't do anything…crazy, okay? I mean, I haven't spoken to you in a week. I don't really know how you're…how you're coping with this. I think I've said I've been worried to at least a dozen different people before you called. I mean, how _are_ you doing?"

"Uh," geez, ask the hard questions first. "I don't know how to answer that. Can I just say that I feel better talking to you, because I do, really. And – and I _don't_ think that becoming a superhero will solve my problems. Right now, I just – I just want to get my homework done. Get better at school. I think that's all I can do for myself for right now."

She nodded. Then she pointed at my worksheet, "Are you done with that now? I don't mean to be rude, but my dad kind of has a pretty strict curfew when it comes to school nights. And just nights in general. Maybe we should call it a night."

I bit my lip, examining my homework. I still had a few questions in need of fixing, but I could do it when I got home. And if it was an emergency fix-it situation, I suppose I could call her and figure it out from there. I was also sad, because I didn't want to leave just yet. A part of me didn't want to be alone again, not after just getting back into the swing of things. Then again, I'd be seeing her tomorrow at school, and I kind of needed sleep.

"Yeah, sure. I'll see you tomorrow, then."

"Promise me you won't avoid people? And, you know, talk?"

"Sure. I promise."

"Good. Because Anatomy is getting really boring without you."

"I figured."

She threw me a look. "Well, don't sound _too_ full of yourself."

I grinned at my own audacity. "I said I promised. Isn't that enough?"

Gwen gave me the Look.

"Okay, okay. No more smart-mouth. Okay? Oh, come on. Stop that!"

I whacked her with my pencil case and we started to crack up. I hadn't laughed in so long – it felt so good to feel normal again. Not even the radar or super senses could that moment.

So eventually we parted ways. Gwen's dad picked her up in his cop car and I took a cab to the next bus stop on the way home. It started to drizzle some, and while waiting there alone at the unsheltered bench, I pulled up my hood and hunched my shoulders, hoping that the water wouldn't soak through my backpack and ruin the homework I put so much effort into.

I checked my watch at least three times while I waited. The bus was late, and I was getting steadily colder as the minutes ticked by. I looked up as the streetlights flickered on and grumbled to myself. Why did I have to pick the worst night to be normal again? It was like Fate had a grudge on me.

I had probably been standing there for twenty minutes before I heard the scuffling. At first I thought it was a cat jumping on some trashcans, but then one of them knocked over and a very un-cat-like scream erupted from the alleyway behind me. I whipped around, trying to figure out what it was through my radar without actually having to get too close.

It was out of range, but I was too curious to ignore it. The rain covering the sound of my steps, I crept closer and braced myself against the wall, peering around the corner at the center of the commotion.

In the shadows and darkness it was impossible to see what was going on, but my radar told me there were two people having a scuffle. One, a woman, as made clear by her pointy shoes and large handbag; the second, a man who should really lay off the beers, wrestling for her purse with a handgun pressed against her throat.

I drew back, suddenly breathless. What should I do? I didn't have a cell phone with me, I couldn't call the police. All the shops here were closed and there was no sign of that accursed bus. The streets were entirely devoid of pedestrians, and too rainy for me to hail down any vehicles, if they deigned to stop for me at all.

I looked back, trying to make a decision.

_You can help others by not ignoring their problems_.

Oh, god. This was Charlie and Mom all over again. I knew I should do something. It was only right. But what _could_ I do?

A part of me prayed that Spider-Man might show up, but no such thing occurred. I guess the guy couldn't be everywhere at once. I was all alone trying to figure out how to stop something really bad from happening.

I couldn't fight. Not with a broken arm. The guy had a gun – he clearly had the upper hand. What could I do? Yell at him to leave her alone?

Well, it was better than nothing.

I steeled my nerves and stepped into the alleyway, taking a deep breath. "Hey!"

I definitely could have said something cooler, more intimidating, but it did the trick nonetheless. The woman gasped and the man jumped back, alarmed. For a second, he probably thought I was police. But that idea was quickly debunked when he finally saw me.

"Get outta here, kid!" he snarled, waving the gun around in my general direction. "This ain't your business. You didn't see anything!"

I didn't care if this was New York. This wasn't something I could ignore, not when I just put my life on the line.

When I made it clear that I wasn't going anywhere (by standing in place trying to figure out what to do next), the man made a weird guttural noise and pointed the barrel at me, intending to shoot. I had just about two and a half seconds before he pulled the trigger.

"You got one last chance to wa – ugh!" I moved as he began to speak, dodging out of the way of the gun and moving right up to him and a series of quick side-steps, and made the boldest move yet: grabbing his wrist and twisting as hard as I could.

I apparently underestimated my own strength, because the man was taken completely by surprise. I managed to twist his arm behind him, and in his pain he dropped the gun. Panicked, I kicked it away from me.

As soon as the gun was out of range, I let my grip loosen. It was stupid of me to do, but a part of my brain had been convinced that without the gun, this man was no longer a threat. Boy, I was wrong.

The man whirled around, his incoming fist looking like a battering ram headed for my face. I didn't even think to scream before I ducked, the edge of his knuckles grazing my cheek. I twisted and raised my foot, slamming it into the spot just above his knee.

It was a move I'd seen in movies and it just as effective as they made it look. The man cried out, falling to one knee and grasping his injured leg. Now unable to fight back, I brought my knee up and delivered a fierce uppercut to the jaw. The man keeled over, unconscious.

It was all over in a span of ten seconds, no more. I stared at the fallen thug, my breath coming in and out in huge gasps. I couldn't believe what I had just done. Did this really just happen? It felt as though I wasn't in control of my body, that someone with more experience had taken over, had seen what the man was about to do and foiled each attempt he made to overcome me. My radar saw what happened before I did. I could react faster with it.

I felt like a ninja, only with a broken arm and no idea how to get away.

"You saved my life," I heard beside me. I jumped back, having completely forgotten about the woman. Had she been there the whole time, watching as I took the guy out instead of running for her life like a normal person would? Did she see my face? What was she going to do? "You're a hero."

"No, I'm not." the answer was an impulse reaction, mostly because the echoes of Gwen's conversation were still fresh in my mind. I kept my head bowed, really wanting to melt into the darkness and pretend this never handed.

"Who are you?" the woman asked. She had a posh accent, like she was born and raised in a nice English townhouse. "Where did you learn to do that?"

I was too scared to answer. I took another shuffle backwards. I checked my backpack – it was soaking wet and I began to worry that my stuff was ruined. I shouldn't have gotten involved. Now I had nothing to hand in tomorrow for math class. That's when I noticed something on the ground, through my radar. Bending down, I discovered they were a pair of gloves. A pair of incredibly heavy gloves.

I held them out to the lady, who I figured they belonged to. But the woman held up her hands, backing away. "No. No, I don't want them. They've caused me enough trouble already. Keep them. You'll need them more."

I paused, then withdrew my hand. I didn't know how a pair of gloves could cause so much trouble, but apparently I could handle myself in a fight now. Muggers and would-be murderers wouldn't be too much of a problem, if for some reason I came across one again. But what did she mean, I'll need them more? More than who? Why would I need them in the first place? And why were these things so heavy? It was like they were made out of metal.

I nodded, if only to convey that I heard her. Still, that didn't mean I wanted them. What use were they to me?

I could barely see the woman in the shadows, her silhouette slightly more solid than the darkness around me. Her head turned to face the street, the pale light that illuminated the sidewalk. Her hair was long and curly, if wet. She turned back to me. "Well, if you're going to leave, now would be the time. I mean, if you don't want the police to find you…I won't say anything."

Her words surprised me. I actually smiled, appreciating that she understood how I wanted to remain anonymous. She motioned for me to go, and I took off in a run.

However, I did not return to the street. I didn't want her to see what I looked like under the light, so I went the other way, farther into the darkness of the alley. My radar led the way, helping me avoid obstacles like trashcans, beer bottles, and the random sleeping hobo. The alley split off in three directions and I went right.

I went through the maze of backstreets until I decided I was far away enough from the crime scene. I emerged onto the lit streets once more.

The gloves were still in my hand when I found another bus stop. I stuffed them in my rucksack before boarding, getting a glimpse of them in the light as I did so. They glittered with what looked like silver beads, almost resembling chainmail. My hands were too cold and numb to define what exactly the material was made of.

I could only think of how late it was when I finally got to Aunt May's house. I knew I was in trouble when I saw her silhouette at the window, arms crossed, apparently waiting for me to show my face again. I hoped I wouldn't get into too much trouble. I had already decided to tell her that my bus never showed up so I had to take a really long detour to get home. At least it was the partial truth. I definitely wasn't going to say anything about stopping a crime in progress.

"Amy!" was the first thing I heard when I opened the door. At first I thought her fear was unwarranted, until I glanced at my reflection in a mirror on the wall and saw how awful I looked. I was soaked to the bone, shivering with cold, pale as a dead guy, and a healing cut on my lip. Wait, when did I get that? Was that from the fight? I didn't even remember getting hit. "What in the world happened to you?"

"I, uh…" my reflection had me transfixed and for a moment I completely forgot what my excuse/lie. "I was in the rain. My bus never showed up. I walked into a light post."

That last part came right out of nowhere, but I didn't know how to explain the cut lip. I was a little disappointed with myself. Surely I could've come up with something better, that didn't make me look like a klutz. I was eating and I bit myself. The cab hit a pothole. I got in a fight with an armed thug.

"You walked into a light post?" a voice asked above me. I looked up at Peter, who was leaning over the railing of the staircase. There was a smirk on his face. "Was the light not bright enough for you?"

I threw him a dirty look. "Says the one who lost the glasses on his face."

"Enough, you two," Aunt May interrupted Peter just as he was about to open his mouth to retaliate. "Unless you both want extra chores tonight, I suggest you both go to your rooms. Amy, your dinner is in the kitchen."

Well, since fighting crime left me with an empty stomach, I took the proposal and ate the meatloaf and mashed potatoes. I noticed I had been eating more lately. I couldn't decide if that was my powers kicking up my metabolism or my newfound strength doing the same.

I ran my tongue over my cut lip. It stung when I first noticed it, but now it felt fine. Curious, I went into the bathroom to get a closer look in the mirror. Bending over the sink, I peered at my reflection, examining my lip. I had to rub some water on it to wash away the blood, but I was surprised to see that the cut was now but a sore line in my skin. It had healed over as I was eating dinner.

Whoa. Did my cuts usually heal this fast? There wasn't even a scab anymore. Was I getting more powers, or were they already there, and I just hadn't discovered them yet?

This got me curious. I had a radar, telekinesis (still in the experimental stage. It seems to be affected by my mood and I haven't been able to do much with it lately), superior durability and now accelerated healing? I mean, it wasn't the _speediest_, but considering I only got the cut an hour ago, it was quite an improvement. Could it possible affect broken bones, too?

It was hard to tell. My arm was strapped inside a brace and some gauze. I wanted to check but I was afraid of being wrong. I didn't want to make it worse. Still, I've had a week for this to heal, and it hadn't been _that_ bad in the first place. I _wanted_ to see this.

At the very least, if my arm _was_ still cracked, I could at least get the brace back on, since it wasn't exactly rocket science to remove. My skin was somewhat puffy from wearing it, the skin pale and tender. Carefully, slowly, I extended my arm, waiting for pain to shoot up my arm at any second.

But none came.

I bent and stretched again, checking to make sure the arm knew it should still be broken. Despite the minor soreness of being in the same position for an entire week, my arm wasn't hurting me. I tapped at my skin, pressing until I felt the bone underneath. My radar couldn't pick up on my own body, but I wasn't an idiot. My arm had completely healed itself.

"Amy?"

I gasped, slamming my entire body into the bathroom door, forcing it shut before anyone could come inside. This was _not_ the time for other people to know about this. "Uh, I'm kind of busy right now!"

Peter was on the other side, if my radar was accurate. He was taller than Aunt May. "I just, uh, wanted to say I was sorry. You know, for what I said earlier."

"Uh, yeah, it's all right," I didn't really care about our fight anymore. It wasn't that big of a deal, and I was already occupied with something much more important. "Don't sweat it."

I think my answer surprised him. "Well, uh, okay then. Look, me and some friends are going to the game tomorrow. You in?"

I glanced at myself in the mirror again. There was no way I was showing up at school tomorrow suddenly without a sling. I'd have to fake it to appear all is normal. But I was already yearning for more social interaction, and this was as good a chance as any. "Yeah, sure. I'll be there. Mmhmm."

I'd worry about the game later. He was talking about the football game, right? Field hockey season wasn't until later.

Later, while lying in bed in the darkness, I realized that I didn't feel as sad anymore. Not that I wasn't still upset or angry…because I was. But now I had energy. Too much energy, in fact. I couldn't go to sleep. All I could think about was Spider-Man, that woman, and the pair of gloves.

She called me a hero. I didn't know if it was true or not. I just happened to be in the right place at the right time, as well as gifted with certain superhuman abilities. But there was crime all over the city. What qualified as a hero, anyways? I looked it up in the dictionary, but it was pretty blasé about it. I mean, courage? Sure. But I wasn't a mythological legend or anything as extraordinary. I was no Mulan or Xena or Joan of Arc. I wasn't hero material. And even if I was, I hardly had the resources for it.

And I was just making a new turn in my life. I was getting my homework in when it was due, my grades were on the rise. If I going to all Spider-Man, would I still have the time? Not that I had a ton of other responsibilities, but still. Spider-Man must have some sort of motivation to keep him going this long, no matter what he had to do as his alter ego.

Motivation. That's what I needed.

I didn't have to think very hard to come up with a couple good ones.

Or just one in particular.

It was a long shot. Hell, I didn't even know if I still wanted to go through with this, or if I'd come out of it alive. But Mom was worth it, wasn't she? I'd do anything to get her back, even if it meant hunting down the ones who took her.

That thug didn't stand a chance against me. Sure, he was a petty criminal, but I could learn to fight better, take on stronger foes. I'll learn how to use my powers more effectively, find the state of mind strong enough to use my telekinesis. My super healing was a no brainer advantage. I even had my arm back, and could withstand a fall off a ten story building.

_I was tough._

But the idea of facing the unknown of the criminal underworld had me quailed. Just because I was strong enough physically didn't mean I had the mindset for it. People go crazy when they get in too deep. What if that happened to me?

No. You can't think like that. Be brave, like when you took down that thug. He hadn't seen you coming. He underestimated you. And so will they.

That made me smile.

Whoever took my mom had no idea what they were in for.


	8. Chapter 8: Active Touch

**Ah, I've finally plotted the entire arc of the series! I've been meandering about what enemies she'll be facing and how they'll come to be. But that's mostly settled, thankfully. Now I just have to write it...  
**

**I haven't seen the new Spider-Man movie yet, but from what I've heard Eddie Brock isn't in it yet. If he's ever cast in future sequels, I wonder who'll play him next. For some reason I thought Ryan Gosling, mostly just because he's blond-ish and a good actor and I want to see him play a bad guy for once - but I think he might be too old for the part.  
**

**Just food for thought. I could just be crazy.  
**

**Anyways, read and review! Any ideas are welcome, so please suggest any if you have one :)  
**

* * *

**Chapter Eight**

**Active Touch**

"Another 'A'. Well done, Miss Fletcher." Mr. Davis remarked as he passed by my table, sliding me the test we had the other day. "You've been making quite an improvement to your overall grade."

I just nodded and brought the test closer. I've never been disappointed in my test scores before (most of the time I was just glad to scrape by with a C-), until now when I noticed that I had missed two questions. Two stupid questions, whose correct answers seemed so obvious now. Had I gotten those two, I'd have an A+ right now. When did I get so…so…so _obsessive_ about grades?

But what Mr. Davis said was true. My GPA skyrocketed .6 points in less than two weeks, and now I was on the upper end of the scale. While I felt proud, other kids have started to see me as competition in the grading curve. I'm beginning to wonder if I can handle the stress. Studying was boring enough as it was.

I smiled at the grade nonetheless, because that meant one less detention spent after school writing words or going over homework with Gwen, who's been forcing me to develop such habits whenever earning a bad score. Maybe I'd actually get to go the library today.

Something about the way Mr. Davis was watching me just before the bell rang should have clued me in. He wanted to talk, probably about my classes again. Even as I passed by my desk and he hailed me to stop, I wondered if he'd accuse me of cheating. I don't know why, it was just a thought.

"You're doing better, Amy." He said after the other kids left. As if I didn't already know.

"Yeah, you said that," I replied. I really wanted to get this over with. I wanted time to be in the library before heading out to the game. "Is there something wrong?"

"No," Mr. Davis looked down at the mess of papers on his desk. I noticed several piles of homework that should have been graded over a week ago. "No, nothing's wrong. I'm just… pleased with this new turn in your life. I wanted to congratulate you after overcoming…"

He didn't finish the sentence but I knew what he was trying to say. I inhaled; this was a common treatment I've been getting, not just from other kids. To them it may seem I was handling it well, but it's hard to move on when they keep bringing it up in every conversation I was in. "I know. People have been telling me that, sir. Thanks."

I sounded unusually curt, maybe a little irritated. Mr. Davis seemed to realize what I'd implied and nodded quickly. "Of course. Of course they have. What am I…err, I mean, you can go now."

On any other occasion it would've been funny to see a teacher stumble over his words, but I didn't laugh. I just said goodbye and went on my way. I didn't know what it was with Mr. Davis trying to get into my business or how bad he was at it, but I couldn't question it. He was my teacher, and he had a right to be concerned, I guess. Just like the last time, only more awkward. Something I didn't believe possible.

As much as I wanted to forget it, I found myself replaying the scene over and over again in my head on the cab ride to the library. I tried to focus on something different, something useful, but I had already finished all the homework I could. I wished I could listen to some music, but the driver was too distracted by his important phone conversation to notice me.

It was then, while coming to a T-junction, I spotted something in the corner of my eye. My radar picked up on it first and it appeared in my line of sight a split second later. I watched it happen, as if it were in slow motion.

A bike messenger, speeding across a crosswalk. Too fast to stop in time for the cab that hadn't spotted him.

A pedestrian catching the arm of his texting friend, pulling him back before the cab driver could clip him.

I could see bystanders open their mouth as they, too, saw the impending disaster.

My breath caught in my throat and I brought up my hands to protect my face. I hadn't put on my seatbelt and it was too late to fix.

I heard cars honk and the biker cry out. I closed my eyes and prepared for impact.

_SCREEEE-KRUNCH!_

The cab came to a jarring halt, launching me forward. My feet slammed into the seat in front of me and my knees went into my trachea. I heard the _pops_ of airbags deploying through the chaos of screams and screeching tires. The taxi jerked forward once more as another car hit us from behind.

I couldn't breathe. The collision had knocked the air from my lungs and white stars pressed against my eyes. I was aware of wind blowing in through broken windows and the sensation of a crowd suddenly rushing into my radar, moving and jostling and confusing everything that made sense to me. I wished this thing had an off button.

Slowly, I got myself to open my eyes. People weren't screaming anymore. In fact, there was a sense of relief in the air, of people sighing and clapping and not being horrified by death. Aching but unhurt, I removed my face from the seat and tried to get a view of the accident.

The biker was standing, uninjured, beside the equally untouched bike, on the other side of the street. He was talking to a bystander in a suit, motioning towards the stopped taxi. I couldn't see what the bumper had crashed into.

The taxi driver was already out of his door, talking to the car owner behind us. No one seemed to be very concerned about the front, which was devoid of any obstacles. I tried my door and got out of the car, hoping to get a view of the damage. What had stopped the car? The driver didn't hit the brakes until too late.

There was no way the biker could have gotten out of there untouched like he did. Yet the bumper was crushed and the hood resembling an accordion. It was as if it had hit a brick wall.

What had caused this?

I looked at my hands. Some form of motion was required to use my telekinesis, but surely I hadn't done it unintentionally. Right? Yet, my headache was reminiscent of the side effects for that ability and there seemed to be no other cause for the event. What if I had created an invisible wall between the car and the bike messenger, preventing a terrible accident?

Until now I had been convinced it hadn't been working. Ever since Mom was taken I couldn't do anything with it. Now I could suddenly stop cars with my mind? Changes like that don't happen overnight.

The scientist in me wanted to experiment, but this wasn't the time or the place. I looked around, clutched my left arm still in its sling (appearances and all), and merged into the crowd, keeping myself as inconspicuous as possible as I escaped the scene. I had already been in one weird accident; I didn't need the cops to know I was in another. Maybe it was coincidence, but if something like this happened again, I'd rather not be around.

I got to the library on foot, leaving the scene behind me without a look back. I used to hate how easily I could blend in with the crowd and not be noticed, how indistinct I was, but now I realized how useful it could be. Maybe it was years of hiding from Astor, maybe it was because I wasn't very tall. Either way, no one gave me a second glance.

It was slower getting to the library, and now I had less time to stay. But the place was also huge and surprisingly devoid of other carbon life forms, so I found myself sitting down with no one else in sight. I didn't have any homework to do, but I already knew what I wanted to practice on.

With no one around, I could've been as loud as I wanted to be, but I refrained myself. I didn't want to attract the attention of whoever was still in here. I set up some of my books on the desk, along with my pencil case, emptying its contents across the tabletop.

Checking once more to see if anyone was in the area, I focused on pencil, felt its presence through my radar, and concentrated on the idea of it rolling to the left.

This was a lot harder to do on purpose. The pencil remained still while I just glared at it. Come on, there had to be a trick to this to make it work easier. I tried to think of what happened with the car accident and raised my hand, keeping it close to the table but not touching any of my things. Again, I focused on the pencil through my radar, but this time I tried to think of my hand pushing it, without actually moving my hand.

I watched with a surge of excitement as the pencil glided across the table, as if carried on a gust of wind. It smacked into the books on my left and fell back to the table, lifeless as ever.

I recognized the sensation of a ghost pencil in my hand as I Moved the real thing. I could feel the painted wood against my hand, yet they weren't touching. It kind of reminded me of the 'phantom limb' phenomenon, although I guess this would be the 'phantom pencil' instead.

I moved from pencils to books pretty quickly. Turning pages was difficult without using my hands, and even then it was hard to determine the individual pages all stacked up against each other. It would take practice, I suppose.

The pressure in my head wasn't there when Moving smaller objects, as opposed to opening the window for the first time. At one point I let my mind wander from schoolwork to Astor Sloane, and the anger that followed short-circuited whatever invisible connection I had. The pencil I was twirling around in midair stopped obeying to my thoughts. It dipped and spun wildly around, like a pinwheel gone berserk.

I had to drop it before I accidentally took out an eye. Okay, so being angry makes my telekinesis go haywire. Duly noted.

I figured sadness would keep me from Moving anything at all, and as soon as I thought about Mom, nothing reacted to my influence. Well, that answered some questions.

Eventually, I learned that remaining calm and emotionally stable was the best state to be in when trying to use telekinesis, preferably by keeping my mind blank and devoid of thought. It's a lot harder than it sounds, and even harder to keep constantly. Focusing on my breathing helped, though, so my mind didn't get too bored.

I couldn't deny that the radar helped, because I could sense and Move things without looking at them, know how large and heavy they were before lifting them. I could potentially Move objects behind me.

"Hey."

I was so engaged with my practice that I didn't notice when someone walked into my radar. The voice startled me and my concentration slipped, my thoughts accidentally knocking over the pile of books onto the floor. I whipped around to look at the speaker, hoping they hadn't seen anything.

Oh, god. It was Eddie.

I think my heart just self-destructed. I couldn't breathe and terror made my hands go numb. My radar flickered in and out, for once irregular. I stared at the fallen books, unable to move.

I watched, speechless, as Eddie bent down to pick up my books. I didn't realize he was chuckling a little until he said, "Do you always knock your books over when people say hi?"

_What do I do what do I do what do I do_…

My thoughts ran into each other, repeated lines. I didn't catch the humor until too late, and even if I remembered to laugh, I couldn't because I felt like I was having a heart attack. But Eddie didn't act like he saw anything unusual, so I forced myself to say something. "Uh… err…not usually. You just surprised me."

"Oh. What were you doing, anyways? You must've been pretty distracted."

"Studying," at least lying wasn't too hard. It was the only thing that I could think of would make sense. It was a lot better than the other excuse I had invented off the top of my head: Doing my laundry. "For Math."

"Is that the only reason you come to the library?"

Well, the only other reason was to watch _him_, but that would sound awkward. "No…I like it here. It's quiet. It takes my mind off of things."

Eddie stood up and set my books back on the table. He stood there for a second, frowning at the desk like it just insulted him. He was silent for a moment and I wondered if I said something wrong. But he spoke again a second later.

"I'm sorry about…about your mom. It's not easy to go through."

Oh, right. This again. I had to hold back a sigh of resignation. "Yeah it's, um, been tough. I'm coping."

"Well, if it's any consolation," Eddie replied, walking around to sit in the seat beside me. He still seemed to look at everything but me. "I know what you're going through."

I swallowed. "No one's ever told me that before."

"Not even Peter?"

"…No."

A dark look flashed across Eddie's face. He murmured something under his breath, something that I wasn't meant to hear. I still did. "_Of course not_."

I frowned. There was unexpected venom in those words that didn't belong to someone who considered himself a brother to Peter. I was apprehensive to bring it up, to reveal that I heard him, but I couldn't help but feel disturbed. "What?"

Eddie glanced up at me, eyes going wide. He went back to looking at his boots. "Uh, nothing. It's just…it's typical of him, you know?"

"Err…" I didn't like what Eddie was trying to imply. I didn't really want to assume ill things about people I didn't know, and _especially_ about those I thought well of. "Not really. What do you mean? Are you saying Pete's..."

"A little insensitive?" Eddie replied, raising an eyebrow. He snorted. "You could say that. He's been kind of distracted lately, like he's got better stuff to do than be with his friends. You know, for his cousin, you don't know a lot about the Parkers, Amzy."

I almost winced when he called me by the insult, but realized it didn't sound like an insult at all. In fact, I liked the way Eddie said it. It didn't sound so…_inherently wrong_, like the way Astor or Tracy or any of the other kids used it. I actually kind of smiled a little. "We, uh, we don't really have a lot of family reunions."

He shrugged. "Well, when you all live in the same city, you don't spend too much time far apart. But don't tell me you haven't noticed how much Pete's changed, have you?"

Of course I have. Everyone has. Not that I had any clue what it was about though. I wondered, perhaps, if Eddie had an idea. "He got contacts, right? And stopped wearing polos."

That made Eddie laughed. He shook his head and corrected, "It's not just a wardrobe change, Amzy. It's like he did a complete one-eighty in personality. He used to be afraid to talk to girls, remember? And I had to keep the other footballs doofuses off his back all the time in the old days. Now he's a different man. All independent and not afraid anymore."

"I don't see how that's a bad thing."

"Overconfidence, Fletcher. You stop needing your friends for help, you start thinking you're better than them. That's what I think is happening to Pete."

It occurred to me that the change happened after Peter and Aunt May lost Ben. I wasn't too quick to agree with Eddie. "I don't know, Eddie. Maybe you're just missing the old Peter and trying to find a reason to hate the new one. He's not that bad. He's just had other things on mind. I'm actually glad he didn't say sorry, because that's one less conversation I have to have about my mom. And I'm tired of people saying sorry, like what they say is sincere and not just politeness or etiquette for someone else's grief. I'm not angry at Peter, Eddie. I'm not mad that he's changed."

Eddie frowned but just shrugged his shoulders again. "Well, to each their own. Promise me you're not going to turn into that, okay?"

"Uh, sure."

Eddie turned his head to look at me dead in the eye, pinning me in place. I was overwhelmed by the intensity in his eyes. "_Promise me_."

"Okay, okay, I promise," _Weirdo_. Right, so Eddie wasn't a big fan of jerks; it wasn't unexpected, I guess. But I thought he might be taking this a little too critically. I rushed to change the subject before he got me pinky-promising or something really serious like that. "So, how's university like?"

It was the first thing I could think of, but it got Eddie to lighten up and actually smile a genuine, non-sarcastic smile. "It could be better. Got to work to pay, you know? But it's doing well being a nerd, you know? If I knew it would be this easy, I would've done it a lot sooner. It might take off the edge of studying for hours on end."

At the mention of hours, I turned to look at the clock. Then I jolted when I realized I was going to be late for the game if I didn't leave _right now_.

I jumped out of my seat and started cramming things into my bag, not so much as supplanting an explanation to Eddie, who looked alarmed. "Whoa, girl, where's the fire?"

I laughed nervously, only it was a little too high-pitched and I sounded a little crazy. Man, why couldn't I act normal in front of my crush? "S-sorry, I'm late for the game tonight. I got to get a cab and maybe catch the last half of the play –"

"Hey, hey, slow down!" Eddie seemed honestly amused by now, although I didn't know why. Gwen had it ingrained into my system to be punctual, and now I couldn't stand people thinking being late was okay. "I can get you there on my bike. It'll be way faster and you won't miss a thing."

I had a total idiot moment when he said bike and I thought he meant an actual bike, with a tiny seat and rotating pedals – which made no plausible sense to me. I had a awkward silent moment where I just stared at him with a blank look until I realized he meant a motorcycle.

_Doi. _Sometimes I wondered why I wasn't dead yet.

"Oh." I said, pausing yet again. I didn't really know what to say, or why he suggested it. "I don't want to be a problem, I mean, you don't have to –"

But Eddie held up a hand, stopping me in my tracks. "Hey, it's not a thing. Besides, I've been itching to check out the old stomping grounds one last time. For old times sake?"

I smile, my shoulders drooping in relief. I let my stuffed bag fall to my side. "Oh, thanks. This is great, seriously. But how are we going to get through the rush hour?"

Eddie just winked and said, "You'll see."

I've never been on a motorcycle before. When Eddie said we'd get through rush hour, he actually meant _through_ it, like dodging between cars at a frightening speed, and burning red lights as if obeying the law was only a suggestion. He had the foresight to give me an extra helmet he kept in the seat, which was probably the only solace I had in case I ever got into another motor vehicle accident again.

Sometimes I just hate cryptic messages. Seriously, 'You'll see?' That _has_ to be a cliché.

Being on a motorcycle reminded me of how dangerous New York City could be. The engine outroared anyone who dared honk, yell, or shake angry fists (and some rather rude gestures) at us. We want a speed that wasn't even safe on the freeway. Somehow, we didn't die, despite Eddie's apparent death wish. He skirted around vehicles and blew through pedestrians crossing the street.

I didn't think I'd be needing my telekinesis so soon – I extended a hand at the incoming innocents. I had meant to create a barrier like I had at the taxi accident, but I guess I put too much energy into it because instead of walking into an invisible brick wall, the bystanders were blown back by a wave of force.

"Oops," I said, wincing. At least no one was hurt; incredibly confused and angry, but considerably lacking motorcycle tire marks. The effort gave me another headache.

I tried to tell Eddie to slow down, but the words wind swallowed my voice, taking it away. My radar could hardly keep up with his speed – too many things dashing in and out of range, too fast for me to fully acknowledge.

I clutched onto Eddie for dear life as we skimmed by a police car, my knee missing the paintjob by inches. I was so glad that the helmet was opaque, so the officer inside couldn't see my face as he disappeared behind us. The cop couldn't follow us, his car trapped amongst the others caught in the jam. I never remembered being so relieved about breaking a law.

We got to Midtown in ten minutes flat, which was an hour and a half faster than how long it would've taken to get here through traffic jam in a taxi. Still, I was trembling so hard when I was finally allowed to walk again that I couldn't remove my helmet.

"You look like you've never been on a motorcycle before," Eddie laughed, finally helping me remove the helmet after a minute of unsuccessful tugging. "Here, let me."

"That's because I haven't," I said, now able to see clearly. I shook out my hair, patting it down so the helmet-hair wasn't too obvious. "It's all buses and cabs for me. Why?"

"I don't know. Peter gets everywhere so fast; I assumed it was the same for you. No idea how he does it, but I don't think he's been on a bus in three months. Do you know?"

"Not a clue," I shrugged. I honestly thought Peter took the metro like any other New Yorker, but clearly I was wrong. Did he skydive to school? Because there was no way he could walk to Midtown before I got there on the school bus. I handed Eddie the extra helmet. "Here."

But Eddie held up a hand. "Keep it. It's too small for me anymore." He paused, then said, "I just noticed. Your eyes."

"Um." His comment came right out of left field. I didn't know what to make of it. "What about them?"

"They're gray. Like _really_ gray."

I swallowed. No one really noticed the physical change that came with the powers. Well, maybe they did, and they just never said anything about it. Still, I worried what Eddie might think of it. I tried to play normal, though. "So?"

"I don't know. For some reason I thought they were blue. I guess I remembered wrong, huh?"

I smiled at him, thankful that Eddie didn't think anything else of it. "It's okay. It doesn't really matter."

"Really? Because I've never seen gray eyes like that. Not bluish-gray, but hard gray. Like steel. It's…weird." Eddie seemed to realize what he just said, and quickly backpedaled. "Wait, I didn't mean it like –"

His expression made me laugh. "Don't worry. Weird is fine."

"Good to hear." Eddie sighed, relieved I wasn't angry with him. He led the way to the field, and I was glad that the conversation hadn't taken a bad turn. I didn't know what I'd do if I ruined whatever chance I had with my greatest crush ever.

I forgot how to say thank you for the helmet, and by the time I remembered, we were already surrounded by fans lining up to get into the stadium. I learned that my radar was pretty much rendered useless when in chaotic settings such as this, where there was too much to register and understand. What I saw and what I heard helped, if only to understand that coming here was a really bad idea. My radar felt overloaded and I was getting another headache.

Just when I was starting to get used to these powers, they find a new way to screw me over. Great.

The game went by in a daze. Eddie was constantly talking, sometimes to me, mostly to old friends still in Midtown. I've never been surrounded by so many football players at once, and almost disappointed none of them were paying attention to me. Almost.

When we finally got our seats, I was relieved. With everyone sitting or standing in a pretty much orderly fashion, I could finally make sense of what my radar was telling me. I clutched onto the helmet as if it were a life preserver. I looked to my left, Eddie's seat, to find him not there anymore. How did he do that? I was sure he was there just a second ago…

"Amy!"

I turned around, spotted Gwen, and waved. She was grinning ear to ear, apparently pleased that I was out of the house. "Man, I knew Peter said you'd be out here, but I didn't actually believe him!"

"Yeah," I smiled weakly as she sat down in the other seat. I was glad to have someone to talk to, but I was afraid of what Gwen might say when she realized that Eddie was here with me. It's not like I actually told her what happened in the library. "Yeah, I just had to get out of the house for a bit. Cabin fever."

"Well, you _are_ looking better," Gwen nodded, the motioned to my lap. She took a sip from her bottle of soda. "Nice helmet, by the way. Where did you get it?"

"Uh…" Oh, crap, what should I say? That I found it? No, that's stupid. That I bought it? Yeah, right. I didn't have the money to afford it. "…Eddie gave it to me. Eddie Brock."

Gwen choked on her drink. "E-Eddie's here? With _you_?"

She sounded a little accusing, so I quickly added, "I met him in the library, and he offered me a ride – that's it! I swear. He wanted to meet his buddies on the football team, catch up on old times or something."

Gwen seemed to relax a little. "Oh, okay. You scared me for a moment there. Does he have any idea that you like him?"

"Of course not!" I snapped, horrified she would think such a thing. "That's like…social suicide or something. Do you know how _awkward_ it would be if I told him I've had a crush on him for years? I'd look like a freak!"

"Really? You never seemed so concerned before."

"Oh, shut up." I scowled, turning back to the game. I listened to the announcer list off Midtown's players as they ran onto the field, then did a double take when I heard the last name I ever expected to hear. "_Harry's_ on the football team?!"  
This completely blew my mind. Harry was even smaller than Pete was, yet even now I could see him tearing down the field with football in hand. What the hell was he doing down there? The other guys were going to snap him in half like a toothpick!  
"Duh," Gwen said, as if this wasn't completely insane at all, like Harry hadn't just signed his own death warrant. "He and Peter tried out together. Peter was too clumsy, but Harry made it all right. He's actually pretty good, despite his apparent lack of muscle development. I thought he told you."

I had to think back a bit. I had gotten numerous phone calls I never picked up, as well as online messages that I might have skimmed at one point or another. Maybe Harry had mentioned it within one of the two. "Uh…maybe. I don't know. The past two weeks have been kind of blurry for me."

"Well, I can't blame you." She shrugged, not entirely concerned with the matter. Her phone started to buzz, once, twice, three times – and continued to do so even after Gwen picked it up and read the message on the screen.

I leaned in, asking, "What's wrong?"

"My news feed is going crazy!" Gwen had to shout over the sudden roar of fans as our team made a touchdown. "Something about a rich scientist being saved by a mysterious Samaritan. It's just…it's everywhere! She had some sort of press conference about it. Here, look."

My heart skipped a beat. I practically snatched the phone from Gwen's hand, scrolling through the messages and trying to absorb as much as I could. I picked one article from _The Bugle_ and began to read the words as they appeared on the screen:

_ORIOLE'S HERO_

FOSWELL, REPORTER _- Last night, Dr. Oriole Kane, CEO of InTec, was attacked last night by an armed man, and subsequently saved by an unidentified person. The armed man was incapacitated with what Dr. Kane called "incredible speed and precision". _

_ Dr. Kane was only returning from a long day of work to her apartment near the bay when a large man grabbed her and shoved her into the alleyway, where he prodded and threatened her with a loaded gun. He demanded for her purse and any valuable objects she had, but Dr. Kane feared for her life and called out for help. _

_ The hero did not stay for long – in fact, they ran away as soon as the armed man was no longer a threat. Police have searched for witnesses, but no one has seen who this person, or what they might have looked like. Dr. Kane did notice that the Samaritan seemed to be injured, what may have been a broken arm. Nothing can be confirmed at this point, however, since the scene of the crime had no cameras or recording devices, as well as dark and hard to see._

_The assailant was armed with a gun that had been knocked out of his hand before he could shoot, but escaped before police could arrive on the scene. His body was later found in the Hudson, riddled with bullets. Authorities have been unable to identify him or the hero._

_Dr. Kane had been salvaging the remnants of her mentor's work that day; Dr. Pigott was tragically murdered in a fire a month ago that destroyed all his research. All that remained, she reported, were a pair of gloves that she lost in the confrontation with her attacker. The authorities have searched the surrounding area for them, but the gloves remain lost, and all of Dr. Pigott's valuable research is gone._

_Authorities speculate that this might have been a planned attack, thanks to detective work, and fear that another attack might be made during Dr. Kane's presentation at the APEX Exposition this Friday. However, Dr. Kane refuses to be intimidated by these rumors and plans to go on with her presentation as planned. _

No way. I was a hero.

I kept staring at the article long after I finished reading it. Dr. Oriole Kane. She was the woman from the alleyway, the one who gave me the gloves. Why did she lie to the police about it? Why did she think it would be better if I kept them? And who was Dr. Pigott?

Oriole. Wasn't that a bird? I remembered that from my biology class, the one I switched into only a few days ago.

"Gwen, what's the APEX exposition?" I asked finally, biting my thumb nail as I mulled over a particularly fascinating idea.

"Oh, that?" Gwen nodded, taking back her phone to check her e-mail. "Kind of like the Stark Expo only, you know, not?"

"Thanks for making that _really_ specific."

Gwen sighed, not impressed with my sarcasm. "APEX is a huge company that mostly deals with military contracts. They train specialists in all sorts of things: military tactics, weapons, law, commerce, accounting, politics, and stuff like that. The people they pump out are _really_ good at what they do. They've wanted to merge with Dr. Kane's tech company for a while, since that's the only barrier they haven't broken yet. They've agreed to let her show off research if she allows negotiations to start between the two. At least, that's what I've heard from the news."

"Do you know why someone might want to kill Dr. Kane?" I asked her. Honestly, if I hadn't read that article, I would've gone on thinking that it was just an isolated incident, a random thug attacking the nearest victim he could find. A victim who had a strange pair of gloves and imparts vague messages of danger, but still.

"I don't know." Gwen shrugged again, pursing her lips. "She's from Italy, and there are rumors she came to America to escape from some family feud or war or something, but it's mostly speculation. Nothing serious enough to get killed over. Maybe she knows something someone doesn't want her to know. Like in the movies."

"Well, movies can be based on real life, can't they?"

Gwen removed her focus from her phone to give me a strange look. "What are you getting at? You mean you think she _actually_ found something important?"

"No," I lied. Well, it was kind of a lie. It was only a suspicion I had, but I didn't want Gwen to think I was turning into a conspiracy theorist. "That's silly. But, I mean, people _have_ died for knowing too much, right? Spies, assets, government people? …Then again, maybe that's too Jason Bourne."

"Sure, Amy. Dr. Kane is actually a spy for the CIA," Gwen rolled her eyes, now convinced I was just joking around. This wasn't exactly my intention, but at least she wasn't suspicious anymore. "Because that's how everything makes sense."

I remembered she was the daughter of New York's Chief of Police. I don't know if Officer Stacy was allowed to talk about his job with a civilian, even his own daughter, but I figured she must've heard _some_ wild stories. It would take a lot more than speculation to convince Gwen that a conspiracy was afoot here.

"Yeah, it's stupid," I agreed, looking around for a way out. Friday was _tomorrow_; I don't know how desperate her enemies were, but Dr. Kane was going to need more help than the local police department to keep her safe. And there was no way I could protect her without revealing my identity. But how could I do that?

I looked down at the helmet in my lap. It was impossible to see the inside through the shiny, opaque visor.

I pursed my lips. This could do the job.

No one knew who Spider-Man was. Not when he was dressed in a leotard and mask. Maybe I just needed to…disguise myself somehow. With a costume. An iconic one.

Something bold. Something to remember.

I looked back up at the field below. Where could I find material? My pockets weren't exactly lined with money. Did Midtown have a Home Ec class, or a fashion club? Something that involved cloth and sewing machines. And maybe some instruction manuals.

I'll need a way inside. Again, no money for tickets. But maybe Harry could hook me up? If not, I could always think of something else, I guess.

In the middle of planning, I caught myself and almost started to laugh. Was I crazy? Did I actually think I could sneak into the expo in a strange costume to protect someone I didn't even know? Someone who suddenly seemed so much more important than she did a night ago? Why was I doing this? I had no real connection to her. No one would point a finger if I ignored this warning. They wouldn't know.

I frowned. But I would. I couldn't forgive myself if I let something like that happened, pretended that a problem didn't exist. I couldn't keep trying to ignore a problem and hoped it settled itself. Not when I could do something about it.

Oh, this was going to suck.

"Uh, Amy, hello?" Gwen's voice brought me out of reverie. She waved a hand in front of my face. "Earth to Amy! Is anyone home?"

"Sorry," I muttered, getting up. Upon Gwen's questioning look, I said, "I, uh, I forgot to write an essay due tomorrow. I mean, I don't mean to be rude…but it can't wait."

"No, it's all right," Gwen actually seemed pleased that I was choosing to write an essay that didn't exist over watching a football game. Well, that's another excuse I could use if I ever needed one. "You going to be all right?"

I almost snorted. "It's New York City. What could go wrong?"

I was almost to the stairs when I remembered and turned back around. "Gwen, you think you could tell Eddie where I went. I don't want him to think I…ditched him or anything."

She smirked at me, raising her eyebrows. "Yeah, sure. Anything else you want him to know? Like a certain secret you've been keeping for years?"

I made a face, sticking my tongue out at her before leaving the aisle of seats and finding my way out of the bleachers. But instead of heading home, I took a detour towards the school, following some kids heading inside for the bathroom. As soon as they disappeared behind swinging doors, I climbed a flight of stairs, hide from a janitor, and snuck into the sewing room I've never actually been in before.

The walls were lined with different fabric, with a variety of colors and textures. About a dozen tables were scattered across the room, all equipped with their own mannequin and sewing machine. In the drawers I found a book about basic techniques and creating structure and durability.

Studying under the tutelage of Gwen had taught me to be a fast reader and absorb the correct information. I didn't read the entire book, but I found myself reading the words out loud as I familiarized myself with the tools of the trade and picked out the fabric I needed to make a suit. Superhero costumes weren't exactly a topic the book covered, but it gave me the instructions of how to make separate pieces of one.

The entire process took half the night. I've watched fashion shows where the designers only had a day to make a dress. While I didn't have the same experience as them, I figured it wasn't impossible to create a look in an entire night, whether or not I never actually went home to sleep. It was worth it, in my opinion, and I only had a limited amount of time to get it done. Maybe when I had free time, and maybe if I didn't die within the next forty-eight hours, maybe then I'll try to do a better job next time.

No one came looking for me and I wasn't caught. I stuffed my finished work into my backpack and cleaned my workstation, removing any evidence of my being there. I hadn't slept at all that night, but I felt wide awake nonetheless.

By the time morning light started to stream through the windows, I was done. I changed into an extra set of clothes I kept in my locker, and set out for a new day.


	9. Chapter 9: Fight or Flight

**Woo, this one's a doozy. But yay, finally some action! Amy's finally coming into her own. I don't know about you, but I've always wanted to sneak into a high security building and save some lives. Well, I'd like some super powers and maybe some gadgets first, but yeah, still. Saving the world, one scientist at a time.  
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**BTW, while I may reference Stark Industries and/or SHIELD, that does not mean that characters prevalent to those Marvel universes will show up in this one. They're just a part of the entire Marvel canon and deserve at least a little mention, otherwise New York is going to look like a closed bubble (and also because I think Iron Man is awesome). **

**I don't know if Spectacular Spider-Man occurs before or after Tony Stark gets an arc reactor in his chest, but for the sake of simplicity, I think it should be before. I don't know if I should add SHIELD/Avengers stuff later (if anything, in a sequel, because this story is going to be busy enough anyways) or not. Tell me what you think, and if I should add any canon characters not already in the Spec universe. Reviews or pm's are both acceptable.  
**

**Anyways, enjoy. Please, read and review! I'd love some feedback.**

**(Seriously, though. You guys have been really quiet. It kind of freaks me out O.o)  
**

* * *

**Chapter Nine**

**Fight or Flight**

Immediately after I got into my first class (Anatomy), Gwen whipped around in her seat and asked, "Where were you last night?"

She said it with such urgency that I found myself speechless, trying think of any event that I might have forgotten. The game was the only place I was supposed to be, and home afterwards. What did Gwen know? "Uh…around."

Gwen gave me the Look. "Yeah? Because I called home and you weren't there all night. Do you even know what _happened_? Or did you just show up today thinking everything is all right?"

"Gwen, you're scaring me now."

"Ugh," she rolled her eyes, shaking her head. "It's fine. You obviously weren't there, but everyone agreed to go to Coney Island after Midtown won the game. I needed to talk to Harry, but he avoided me all night. Then that eight-armed supervillain showed up and started terrorizing everyone and we almost died."

"Oh, my god! H-how did you –?" I stuttered, but Gwen guessed what I was going to say beforehand.

"Get out alive?" Gwen shrugged. "How do you think? Spider-Man, of course. Saved the day and whatever. Which I guess is pretty normal for him."

"Oh." I replied, frowning. So Spider-Man has yet-again saved dozens of lives. How did he do it, how did he know where the trouble occurred? Did he guess from the news, like I was doing, or did he have some special power that allowed him to sense this kind of stuff? "What was that about Harry?"

Gwen paused, glancing at the floor and biting her lip. She looked back up at me and whispered so low that I had to lean in to hear. "Can you keep a secret?"

Well, considering I already had a ton racked up, how could I not? "Yeah, sure. What's the matter?"

"I think…" Gwen grimaced, clenching her fists. I watched her, wary. She seemed to be having some sort of internal struggle, and apparently telling me about it was risking some sort of code of honor. Or maybe that's just my over-active imagination. "Okay…well, it's just a hunch, but I think – have you noticed how strangely Harry's been acting lately?"

"You mean, besides being suddenly on the football team and being _really_ good at it for some reason?" I asked, making a face. I wasn't sure where she was going at it. Honestly, that was the only thing different I've noticed from Harry, and I just learned that last night. Clearly I am not on top of my social game.

"Yes, exactly!" Gwen nodded, speaking with undeniable conviction now. She almost smiled at me, but apparently the gravity of whatever secret she had was keeping it from taking full form. "I asked, like, the same thing to Peter and he didn't notice a thing!"

Is it just me, or is everyone I know do the best they can to bash on Peter? Maybe I just don't know a lot of people. "So, you were saying?"

"Oh, right," Gwen took a deep breath, bringing her voice down once more. How many times is she going to do this before she actually tells me what's going on? "Harry's…he's on something. I noticed it the other day. He had some in his locker, and I found him unconscious on the concrete a couple days ago."

"Unconscious?" I leaned back a little, taking it in. Harry wasn't exactly the first person I'd think of people who would juice. And I haven't talked to him in a while, so I couldn't really evaluate any differences. "What did he say?"

"He didn't want me to worry," Gwen replied sourly, her gaze hardening. "But I'm not an idiot. I've been trying to talk to him, but Harry's doing his best to stay away from me. I think if I get someone else on my side, he might see how seriously bad this is. I figured if it didn't work out with Peter…I could convince you."

"So you want to do an intervention," I said, my voice flat. "With me as back-up. I don't know if you know this, but I don't exactly have the best emotional or mental health to evaluate someone else's life for them."

"_Amelia,_" Gwen cited my given name, giving me another deadly Look. I clenched my fists, willing myself not to quail. No one used the full-first-name card except adults, and even then I didn't like it. "Harry's our friend. It's our responsibility to make sure he's all right. He needs to know that what he does is not good for him!"

I thought of my plans for later today. I closed my eyes and sighed, giving in to Gwen's will. "Oh, all right, fine. I have to talk to him anyways. You really want me to bring that up in our conversation?"

"I don't know. What are you going to talk about?"

"Tickets," I said, wondering if it was such a good idea to tell Gwen anything. She was my best friend and all, but I was afraid of telling her too much. "For the APEX expo."

Okay, too much.

"You're _going_?" Gwen's jaw dropped, and she jerked her head back in surprise. "All right, this is getting seriously freaky. First you obsess over the Dr. Kane article, then you were incognito for the whole night, and _now_ you're thinking about going? Amy, is there something going on that you're not telling me?"

"No," I snorted, and it sounded so fake that I couldn't believe Gwen bought it. Not to mention how guilty I felt afterwards. "Of course not. I did my essay at the library and I took a walk afterwards to clear my head, and I lost track of time. I'm not doing anything crazy. And the expo sounds really interesting."

"Really? Which department of science is Dr. Kane in?"

"Uh…" I realized that maybe I should research before I start making up lies off the top of my head. "Genetics?"

"No, that was Dr. Pigott," Gwen shook her head, clearly unimpressed with my attempted deceit. "Dr. Kane is head in robotics and computers. She was Pigott's protégé. Well, until he died. Then she took over and the companies been barely floating since."

"How come?" I jumped at the chance to change the direction of the conversation, before Gwen could accuse me of anything else overly dramatic or too close to the truth.

"You remember the part in the article where he died in a fire at his lab? Well, _he_ started that fire, Amy. He committed suicide, and took all his work with him. Didn't leave a note or an explanation why, just one day up and went. Their company, InTec, lost about eighty percent of their sponsors after that. I don't have to tell you _why_, do I?"

I caught her sardonic tone and rolled my eyes. "No, I'm good, thanks. So no one knows why he killed himself?"

"Well," she drew the word out and I anticipated some not-so-good news. "He _was_ known for being a kind of insane, although I suppose that's a side effect of being a genius. He was super paranoid about everything. He didn't even trust Dr. Kane with his work. But some people like to think he killed himself before someone else could."

"Someone wanted to kill Dr. Pigott?"

Gwen shrugged. "Maybe. Like I said, they're rumors without solid evidence. But it _is_ weird, isn't it? He kicked the bucket just three hours before he had to give a presentation, a lot like Dr. Kane's doing tonight. That's why Dad is going all out tonight for security. _No one_ is getting in without getting their entire background checked first."

"Oh, good, that makes me feel so much better," I said, but it didn't really. If anything, that made me even more worried. Not that I didn't trust Captain Stacy, but I had to wonder just how effective his security system would be. All this only solidified my theory that someone might try to kill Dr. Kane tonight.

We would have talked more if our teacher didn't slap the chalkboard with her ruler to get everyone's attention. For the rest of class I did my work, momentarily forgetting about my mission. I wouldn't see Gwen for the rest of day, but managed to catch up with Harry in Calculus. I got there early to sit next to him in class, because lo and behold – I had witnessed Harry's new-found popularity was making it difficult to speak to him in any place that wasn't in his suite at the top of OSCORP tower.

I realized that Gwen wasn't joking. Harry was almost too hard to talk to, and not because I was too shy or whatever. I would have attempted conversation during lunch if he weren't already surrounded by jocks (including Astor Sloane, which made it an automatic deal-breaker). But even in Calculus Harry's table was already crowded, so I had to sit in the back as usual and rethink my plan.

Nothing in that plan involved Astor taking the seat next to me.

I swear, I think I stared at her for a full minute.

She did her best to ignore me. Setting her duffel bag on the floor, she dropped her battered textbook on the desk next to my pristine one (Gwen made me get another after mine fell in a puddle). She apparently forgot her homework, because she didn't hand it in when she entered. This in itself wasn't unusual since Astor despised math and wasn't expecting any scholarships from this academic department. What _was_ unusual was the fact that she was making no attempt to torment me, or sit with her friends, or...or…or just being _anything_ like the Astor I knew.

I had been rendered speechless. There was no way this was happening. Why would Astor commit this act of social suicide? She would _never_ willingly sit by me, tormentor or not. I knew her better than that.

Or, at least, thought I did.

I would have brought it up, but Mrs. Harrison, our perfectly plump and cheery Calculus teacher, was already handing out our tests from our last class. She smiled when she handed my packet, saying, "Another A, Fletcher. Good for you."

Her smile vanished when her gaze landed on Astor, and Astor's test slid to its owner's fingers. I stared at that, too, because the paper was practically painted in red ink. She didn't get a single question right on the first page. I couldn't imagine it was much different on any of the others. Mrs. Harrison pursed her lips, eying Astor, who didn't deign the teacher so much as a glance. "Perhaps next time, Sloane, if you happen to actually _use_ that textbook for something other than a punching bag."

Mrs. Harrison moved on. I looked down at my own test. Like my Physics paper, it had an 'A' circled in the top right corner, only this time with a smiley face and a sticker. My radar picked up that I wasn't the only one admiring it, and I turned to see Astor leaning in for a look, too.

As soon as she was noticed, Astor jerked back and pretended I didn't exist.

"What?" I asked.

Astor didn't look at me.

I eyed her warily but didn't push it. Astor didn't _look_ any different – still the same caramel ponytail, gym shorts, and field hockey jersey - so maybe this wasn't as abnormal as I thought it was. Maybe she was just switching tactics, or found a weaker victim for her tormenting.

It wasn't until Mrs. Harrison had covered the board with equations and mathematical formulas did I recall my last encounter with Astor. I bit my lip, trying to think of what to do. After a minute or so, I murmured just loud enough for her to hear. "Thanks. For, you know, not beating me up."

Astor didn't react immediately. She was glaring at the board with crossed arms, tossing her head and making her ponytail swish around every time Mrs. Harrison asked her a question. But what was clearly meant for me, I heard the words barely breathed, "No problem. Loser."

I had to cover my smirk behind a hand, leaning on it like I was actually paying attention to what Mrs. Harrison was saying. My hearing was too good for Astor to slip under my notice, but it was pretty obvious I wasn't supposed to hear it and say something back.

Then Mrs. Harrison handed out a worksheet full of problems meant to be solved in the ways she just discussed. I flew through it like it was nothing and finished with ten minutes left to spare. For a while I just looked over my work and made sure I didn't make any dumb mistakes (like simple addition errors, because they're my bane). I happened to glance at Astor, who hadn't even made it past the third question. The other two were wrong, and it was clear through the frequent use of her eraser that Astor had no idea what she was doing.

I felt kind of bad. Even I needed help with this stuff. Out of the corner of my mouth (because I didn't want to be seen collaborating with my supposed arch nemesis), "You carry the decimal two places to the left."

She didn't look at me, but there was a noticeable halt in her writing when she heard my advice and looked over the mistake she just made. Then, after a moment where she was clearly evaluating the sincerity of my advice, went back and hesitantly erased her answer and did as I suggested.

I smiled to myself and went on to mind my own business.

I could've confronted Astor about what just happened in math class. But I didn't, because as much as the curiosity killed me, I was still very familiar with Astor's punch.

Which may seem ironic, considering that I was going to sneak into a highly secured event to stop a killer who may or may not show up to murder Dr. Kane.

For some reason, Astor was a whole lot scarier.

Throughout the entire class, Harry and his new friends were a riot – not because they were hilariously funny (they weren't), but because they just wouldn't _shut up_, and it was seriously starting to get on my nerves. I observed Harry, watching him as he laughed at jokes that I thought him better to laugh at. Dead puppies were hardly humorous, but Harry didn't seem to be so horrified as I was. I watched as he told his own incredible (i.e. in his opinion), and shot down anyone who thought they could top him with an arrogance I've never seen before.

Whoa, Gwen was right. Again! This wasn't the shy freckled boy who tried to stand up for me in gym class, but another jerk amongst the many on the football team. He even interrupted Hobie Brown just as he was about to speak, going on about a completely different story.

I didn't get a chance to talk to Harry until after school was over. What with him constantly surrounded, getting a word in edgewise was impossible. I eventually found him on the football field with the rest of the team. He was separated from the rest, chugging down some Gatorade while checking his phone messages.

I must've surprised Harry, because he practically jumped out of his cleats when I sat next to him. "A-Amy! I didn't know you were back in school."

I blinked, trying not to feel _too_ insulted by this. "I've been here all week. Where have _you_ been, Harry?"

He rubbed the back of his head, chuckling with a forced smile. With his other hand, he motioned towards the field. "Uh, well, in case you haven't noticed, I'm on the football team. I made the tryouts while you…when you were…"

"Yeah, I figured," I said before he could finish that sentence. I wiggled the fingers on my casted arm (which I could definitely confirm had completely healed by now, in case there were any doubts before). "Obviously, I'm not joining any sport teams any time soon."

"It could be worse," Harry nodded, then realized what he said and tried to backpedal. "I mean – that's not what I meant, no, I just –"

I swear, I can't avoid an awkward moment to save my life. I raised my other hand to stop him before more foot-in-mouth sentences could come out. "It's fine. This – it happens a lot. You're not the first guy. Anyways, I came here to ask you a favor."

From the look on his face, I wondered if Harry wanted the favor to be killing him out of sheer embarrassment. But he relaxed and said, "Uh, yeah, sure. Anything."

"Do you have tickets to the APEX expo?"

I figured Harry was so glad to have the subject changed because he didn't bother asking why I wanted to go to the expo. Still, I found it strange how nice he was to me considering his rather a-hole attitude I witnessed today. "What? Yeah, 'course I do. I mean, I'll have to call – Oof!"

A football came out of nowhere and pile drove into Harry's stomach. I realized that I _had_ sensed it in my radar, but had assumed it would merely fall short. Clearly, even my radar couldn't improve distance judgment. I'll have to work on that.

Harry clutched the ball and glared down at a very amused Flash, who was currently keeled over laughing. His other teammates were joining in as well, some pointing. Although I had nothing to do with it, I started to flush and looked at Harry to see what he would do next. He glanced back at me before lifting his arm and throwing the ball back at Flash.

Well, at least I _think_ he was trying to throw it at Flash, because Harry totally overshot it. The ball soared through the air with a force that seemed a little unnecessary. Flash looked up as it went right over his head. Gravity or friction didn't seem to be affecting it in the way I expected. It looked like it was going to hit the goalposts –

_GONG!_

The ball exploded upon contact with a loud _Sprock!_ The impact left a dent in the metal of the goalposts, leaving one side to be off at an angle. I glanced at Harry, who froze next to me, opening his mouth, then closing it, then opening it again. At first, I thought he had stunned himself speechless, but he surprised me when he dropped his arm and just smiled. "Well, isn't that something?"

I did a double take. Did Harry seriously just say that? _Flash_ couldn't make a throw like that. But Harry shrugs it off as some sort of…of happy little fluke? And I thought his two-faced personality was weird, but this was icing on the cake. "Yeah, it is. How'd you make a throw like that, Harry? Last I remembered, you couldn't throw a football ten feet."

"Well, people change, Amy," Harry shrugged again, because apparently this was the norm now. I felt myself getting irritated, but didn't let it get away from me lest I lose my chance at those tickets. "I've found my true calling."

If this had been any other situation, I would've laughed at the corny line. But this wasn't any other situation, and I was seriously considering Gwen's claims now. However, confronting Harry about them right now didn't sound like a good idea, and I had to wait until practice was over before I could get the tickets (Harry being surprisingly offhand about a bunch of fifty dollar tickets, explaining how he'd 'love to go' but had 'prior engagements' with 'other associates'; while I privately questioned being considered an 'associate' and not just a simple 'friend'. Maybe I'm thinking too much into this.), and the rest of the day was spent in preparation.

I promised myself to remember the Harry Problem, and talk to Gwen as soon as I could – but until then, I was putting on my best reporter clothes (because I had nothing fancy enough to wear at fancy evening; besides, hiding a suit under a dress wasn't exactly a viable option for me).

Everything was going well, in my opinion. Well, everything in regards to my mission. As for my social life, everything was twisted and topsy-turvy. Sworn enemies were now unconcerned, decent friends turned duplicitous and now I didn't know what to think. Was the alleged juice Harry was taking the cause of the football incident, the 180 change in personality?

All this thinking about things not immediately important was making me nervous. Even in my reporter disguise I felt uncomfortable and conspicuous, although as far as I could tell no one noticed me in the streets. I was afraid that they could see right through to the suit I wore underneath.

I didn't actually _know_ what reporters wore for these kinds of events, but I tried to keep it as professional and pretended like I knew what I was doing. It was working so far, however, and I kept that in mind even as I felt my inner clock tick down to show time. I hoped that I would make it on time; that in my rush and time delay of getting everything ready, from suit to disguise to tickets and a ride; I hadn't inadvertently caused Dr. Kane's own doom in trying to prevent it.

But everything was going well. I hadn't come across any problems in the Mission – what I had chosen to call it, after watching too many spy movies and letting the idea of world saving get to my head and let it inflate to the size of my waist.

Then I lost my ticket.

This occurred around the time I was lining up to get inside. I searched through my bag 3 times, then half a dozen more when I realized it wasn't where I last remembered it.

Even worse, the usher waiting for my ticket was giving me the evil eye. I mean, I've already been expecting skepticism towards me and my one-teen-show, because what funny looking girl would want to be here? Or more importantly, actually obtain tickets?

But even then I had assumed I'd have my ticket. Now my absent-mindedness had reared its ugly head and I was suffering the consequences.

"Get her out of here," the usher snapped to the security guards on either side of him, hooking a thumb at me.

Two meaty hands were on my shoulders in a second. For a moment, my gut told me to fight back, a flash of terror blinding all reason. But I forced myself to hold that urge back, before I gave these brutes some bruises to think about.

I was removed from the area. Out on the street, I was left to my own devises on how to get inside. Which was going to be tough, because this place had more security than the Pentagon. The wait just getting to the usher took forever, since every guest was scanned and patted down and scrutinized as if each and every one of them were a Communist spy from the sixties. How I ever thought I was going to get past them the normal way was beyond me now. What was I thinking? I needed to go undercover.

It was a crazy idea, but I've watched the movies. I've seen archeologist professors sneak through bug-infested secret passageways, government spies scale buildings with nothing but their fingertips and a line of cable, and Sherlock Holmes disguise himself as a woman and kill a bunch of assassins with household objects. This would be a cinch.

I looked up at APEX tower. It was a giant column of glittering green glass, square panels covering a base that resembled an organ as it decreased in width as it reached its pinnacle. The very top sported flashing lights of red, blue, yellow, and green, and one large patch of the building windows were lit up – the ballroom where the event was taking place. It had to be at least 100 stories, if not more. The place wasn't more than a couple years old, but had been built with the same determination as the men behind the Empire State Building's construction almost a century ago.

I remembered from TV how APEX wanted their tower to be built higher than the upcoming 1 WTC, but due to a bad reception from the public, APEX backed down and settled with just topping Empire State. Still, it didn't make the building any less imposing, and was a proud addition to New York's skyline, noticeable among them with OSCORP and Stark Industries.

I saw a lot of famous people getting out of their limos, dressed in their finest. And by 'famous people' I mean 'actors-who-have-no-business-here-other-than-to-get-their-faces-on-national-TV'. Not that I doubted the sincerity of an actor's enthusiasm for science or technology. Maybe they were honestly curious.

Then again, maybe they were paid by fashion designers to show off their latest works.

I looked around for a way to get in. There were security cameras everywhere, not to mention TV crews and paparazzi. That was enough reason to deter someone from trying to get in, but there _had_ to be a way in. Like, a ventilation shaft or conveniently unguarded back entrance. Maybe I could just pass myself as part of the TV crew, pretend like I know what I'm actually doing. Sure, maybe I look a little young, but there was nothing better…

Then I saw the catering van, and a most wonderful idea popped into my head.

It was parked a ways away, near the end of the street were the building met sidewalk. Keeping my head low (which wasn't that hard), I crept over, hiding behind the front while caterers, waiters/waitresses, cooks and chefs, and the manager of them all strode back and forth between the van loaded with food and two double doors leading into the back of the building. There was a line of food carts covered in white sheets lined outside, big enough for me to hide in.

However, any idea of sneaking in those were dashed when I realized that there was an extra shelf inside of them, packed with even more food and too cramped for me to fit.

"Hey, you! You're not supposed to be there!"

I jumped, my head banging on the top of the cart I was sticking my head in. Rubbing the forming bump on my noggin, I pulled out from underneath the sheet to look at a man in a white coat approaching me, clipboard in hand and looking incredibly annoyed. My heart skipped a beat when I realized he was looking _directly at me_. How was I going to get out of this one?

"Where's your uniform?" he demanded as soon as we were face to face. The man had to be in his late thirties, with dark hair and 5'o'clock shadow, and a name-tag that read 'MANAGER: HUEY LEWIS'.

"What?" I asked, somewhat distracted by his given name. It felt oddly familiar, but I couldn't place where. "Are you that guy from the news?"

"What?" Manager Huey Lewis gave me a weird look, taken aback.

"What?" I stared back, utterly confused.

He just shook his head and rolled his eyes. "Just forget it, kid. Look, one of my new employees called sick at the last moment and I'm down one man. The powers that be said they'd send someone else to fill his spot. You're the replacement, right?"

"Uh…sure." I said, still wide-eyed. I had no idea what was going on, but if he thought I was someone else, then why not? "That's me. Yep."

Manager Huey Lewis seemed unimpressed by my lack of eloquence. Making a face, he hooked a thumb to the van and said, "What, no name? Whatever. Just get a spare shirt and cap in the back and write your name on a name-tag and pin it on. Don't bother to introduce yourself to the rest of the crew. We're behind schedule as it is and I can't afford to screw up another job. The other new guy is a screw-up as it is, all upset that the other one called in sick. Maybe you can cheer him up."

I'd rather not, but I didn't have a choice in the matter. I just nodded and headed towards the van. Behind me, I heard Manager Huey Lewis mutter under his breath, "I swear, they're getting younger every day. Next they'll be sending me babies with spatulas."

I shook myself, trying to gather whatever courage I had left and get the adrenalin running. I wasn't expecting to be put on the spot like this, but now that I had to act a part on top of trying to watch over Dr. Kane and her presentation? I didn't know how I was going to pull this off without someone getting suspicious.

Plus, wearing three layers was not helping at all. I stuffed my sweater in my bag before quickly changing into one of the spare white shirts before anyone could see what I was wearing underneath. I don't know anything about being a spy, but I had to look into it if sneaking into high security functions was this easy. Seriously, why isn't that a serious school of study in my college prep class?

I slung my bag inside the van. Hopefully I'd make it back to retrieve it, because I had important biology homework in there, and I couldn't afford to lose it. Observing what everyone else was doing, I took a cart and headed inside, following the procession line of other caterers. I didn't know what I'd find inside, but I hoped that I wouldn't be immediately caught as an imposter.

Yet, no one stopped me as I rolled my cart inside the back doors, the security guards didn't give me a second glance, and my fellow employees didn't question my presence. I got inside a giant elevator by myself (it could only fit one cart per person at a time), and when I didn't know which button of the two foot long column, a nearby security guard pressed it for me and smiled at me as the doors closed between us. I couldn't help but smile nervously in return before being lifted up and wondering how the hell I was going to get through the night.

Even now I was starting to question myself, at the worst possible time. I was half-way to my destination – Floor 97 – when I started to shake and sweat. It could've been from the vertigo, the feeling of my ears popping, or how horribly awful the Muzak was. _Staying Alive_, seriously? I could feel my confidence in the Mission taking a nosedive.

I felt myself panicking. I had to move, but the space was cramped that I couldn't even sit if I wanted to. I glanced up at the security camera several times before realizing that I might not get a better chance to change than now. I could feel the wires to the camera within my radar – I Touched them with my mind, tugging on the wires until they broke free from the lenses. Assured that I was no longer being watched, I shucked my layers of clothes, removed my helmet from its hiding place underneath the cart and its sheet. With five floors left to go, I picked up my clothes, climbed onto the top of the cart, and removed the ceiling grate to elevator shaft above.

I pulled myself up and slid the grate back in place. While the elevator made its last twenty feet to its destination, I checked to make sure my gloves, boots, and back zipper were all tightened accordingly. Then I tied my hair back, watching as the elevator doors opened.

For several seconds nothing happened, then two confused heads looked in. One a female caterer, the other a guard with dark shades. The guard looked to the woman, who shrugged and said, "We're down one man. This must be faster for them."

The guard nodded and let the woman remove the cart and its contents into the hallway below. I could sense the both of them leave my immediate range, and pulled down my helmet. I Pressed the 'hold' button for the doors just as they were about to close, then slipped back down into the elevator. Checking the hall to see if the way was clear, I ducked out of the elevator, tripped on the threshold, performed an impromptu somersault, then slammed my back into the nearby wall before anyone could notice me.

After a second to make sure I hadn't been spotted, I checked the corner and dashed down the next hall, my footsteps muffled by the red carpeting. There weren't many doors here, besides bathrooms, closets, and a set up ahead that must lead to the ballroom, if the classical music emanating from it was anything to go by.

Along the way, I disabled any cameras that might see me with my telekinesis. Then I realized if it was this easy for me to sneak in, then it couldn't be much more difficult for a hit man to as well. He _had_ to be here by now.

I could be asking why I had hired myself to be Dr. Kane's personal Secret Service, but really, why shouldn't I? I knew the possibilities, the desire of someone very angry and powerful wanting her dead, someone good enough to make the first attempt look like an isolated incident. I had the knowledge and ability to stop this – therefore, I would be a coward not to do something.

Or maybe I was just trying to justify what could very well be my mind jumping off the train of rational thought into crazy land. Either way, there was no turning back now.

As soon as I sensed oncoming footprints, I threw myself into a nearby doorway, finding myself once more in a storage closet. I remained in the shadows until the man in the black suit and his glamorous date passed by, chattering in a foreign language. As soon as they were a fair distance away, I jumped from my hiding place and made a mad dash to the double doorways. Then I realized that I'd have no place to hide and crouched beside a potted plant that decorated either side of the doors. I let my radar do the rest of the work, concentrating and getting it to expand about twenty feet for a few minutes. As soon as I made a plan, I let go and let the range decrease to its normal level. The effort it took to expand that range gave me a headache, but I tried to ignore it.

I let a pair of guards make a pass before sneaking in on a crouch, disconnecting any security cameras before hiding behind red velvet curtains that lined the walls. They were thick enough for my form not to show through, and the shadows dark enough so they wouldn't see my feet beneath. At that moment, I wished I was Spider-Man and climb the walls, but had to resort to the ropes connecting such curtains to bring myself closer to the ceiling.

I was never good at rope climbing, but I managed to reach the top. No one was looking in my direction and I reached up, hooking my hands around the banisters that crisscrossed the ceiling. I pulled myself up and looked down, impressed by the size of the room. All the beautiful people in their beautiful clothes eating expertly made food. My stomach growled at the sight, and I realized I forgot to eat dinner before coming here. Oh, well.

The presentation had yet to start. I kept low on the banisters, lying on my belly as things proceeded below. I observed the guests and workers below me, trying to figure out who the would-be-killer was. Thing was, everyone looked like they belonged. I couldn't spot a single unusual person out of them (except for celebrities, but even then I had to treat with a grain of salt).

Then the lights dimmed around me and spotlights centered on the stage. The show had begun.

It had to be an hour in until Dr. Kane finally showed up. By then I was getting antsy, worried that each time I got distracted by the show I was missing something important. Was the gunman already making his move? Who was he? Or she, for that matter? What if I was looking in all the wrong places and maybe it was a celebrity hired to kill Dr. Kane? I mean, that would just throw _everything_ off –

Dr. Kane began to speak onstage. She was gorgeous in a her glittering red dress, black curls and olive skin. Upon first impressions, one would think she was an actress, not a scientist with a PhD. "Greetings, everyone. My name is Dr. Oriole Kane, head of InTec. As I'm sure you've all heard, I've been recently attacked and death threats have been made in my name, but I shall not be deterred. I have come here for one reason and one reason only: my late mentor, Dr. Pigott."

Oh, good. Maybe I'll actually learn something important about this weirdo Dr. Pigott.

"He was a genius, as all great men are. And maybe a little crazy, but for the longest time I thought it was merely an endearing trait to his eclectic personality. Dr. Pigott, or as he liked to be called, Ernie, enjoyed golf, seafood, and advanced robotics. He loved puns and famous quotes, and for that I never found a dull day with this man…"

Or not.

Still, I listened to her as she continued. "Perhaps the worst thing about this man was the fact that he was so secretive. I'll never understand why, because, well, he never told me. Or anyone. For that, I feel as though some blame must be put unto him, because I think his work deserved to be continued, to be shared with the world and make it a better, safer place to live in. Maybe he was a little selfish. But he always knew what was best, and for that I have to believe that he wasn't crazy when he destroyed his work, even if it meant to take his own life along with it. I'll never understand, but I don't know what I'd do if I had to guess."

Something out of the corner of my eye caught my attention. Peeling my gaze from Dr. Kane, I looked down as a lone caterer pushed his cart to the center of the floor. He was rummaging under the white sheet of his cart for something, but I was too far away to sense what it was. I started to feel apprehensive, and missed Dr. Kane's next few sentences.

"…work was beyond anything I could have ever imagined. Wonderful inventions that would've changed the course of science and technology as we knew it…"

The man got up, but he had nothing in his hands. No food, no water, not even a bottle of wine. The guests next to him were also confused, apparently thinking he was going to reveal some food as well. But they didn't voice the apparent deficiency and continued to watch Dr. Kane's speech.

"…here to show you what InTec has been working on recently. Granted, it's nothing to what Dr. Pigott has done, but I suppose there is little we can do…"

The caterer, who had unusually scruffy beard now that I thought about it, left the cart where it was as he slowly moved closer and closer to the stage. I was pretty sure no one in the catering business was allowed to be so unhygienic, what with their handling of food and all, especially to famous people. I mean, gross, man.

"…is a specialty of mine, something that I hope will be widespread and easy to afford for the masses, something that will give compensation for the veterans and re-enable the disabled…"

The man was certainly taking a roundabout, confusing route to wherever he was headed. I was already near the front, but I watched as he circled several tables. He didn't seem to be catching any significant attention, but I couldn't help but feel there was something wrong in all the _nothing_ he was doing to aid the catering team. Was he the unhelpful new guy that Manager Huey Lewis was talking about?

"…of technology with levels of artificial intelligence that will aid humankind and help us use our resources more efficiently, as well as use cleaner power sources, and create new jobs for thousands…"

Wait, new guy. That's it! The hit man would use the catering system's resource management to get a temp job here! He did the same thing I did!

I looked down as he passed right beneath me, coming to a stop and facing the stage. I concentrated once more, extending my radar to reach the man below. He seemed to be waiting for something. I don't know what.

My concentration slipped when movement occurred onstage. Something was being moved behind Dr. Kane, some sort of large machine that she was presenting. People ooh'd and ahh'd, and suddenly the room was filled with thunderous clapping as they welcomed the new tech onto the stage and national TV.

Below, the caterer finally moved. It was so swift, I almost didn't catch it. His arm slipped into his jacket, removing something small and black.

On instinct I extended my hand and was slammed back by the back draft of the force I sent forward.

_BRA__-KAK!_

The gunshot echoed in the room, the bullet going wide off its mark. Even as I fell, people were screaming and leaving their seats, some falling to the floor and others running in the opposite direction of the shooter.

I smashed into the ground, but hardly felt a thing due to the adrenalin. My radar was disrupted by the sound waves of the gunshot, so for a moment I was left disoriented. Still, I forced myself to get up, and lunged for the gunman as he ran towards the stage, gun still raised. Dr. Kane was still up there, paralyzed by the sudden pandemonium, and a sitting duck for her assassin.

He was already moving, but my arms wrapped around his legs. He crashed to the ground, and I gained a sense of satisfaction as his head bounced off the corner of the table. The gunman cried out, surprised to be stopped, and certainly not expecting my visage when he looked around – then sneered and kicked, his feet landing on my shoulders.

I was actually glad for bringing my helmet along, besides obvious secret identity thing. It absorbed the strike to my head and allowed me a faster reaction when he managed to wriggle away. I extended both hands, reaching for nearby empty tables and Lifting them.

I was a little overzealous with my aiming. The first one careened over the gunman's head, but the other managed to smack into his shoulder, knocking the man off balance.

The gunman crashed into a table, knocking over its contents onto the fashionable guests hiding underneath, who screamed in terror and indignation.

As he recovered, I got to my feet and went for the kill.

People finally seemed to realize there was a second combatant in this fight, and I heard shouting and saw fingers point, people asking who I was, where I had come from. In the distance, I could see the guards trying to decide whose side I was on, their guns wavering.

I jumped onto a table and prepared the land on the still rising gunman. He saw my coming and whipped his gun in my direction, but his aim was careless and the bullet went past my right shoulder. I was so glad not to have to wear a cast anymore that it was my left fist I used to punch him in the face.

This guy was a lot tougher than I thought, because that did less damage than the table did. He took the hit, then grabbed my offending hand and twisted.

I gasped, and he pulled me over, slamming me on my back and planting a foot on my exposed neck, the one part of my skin I couldn't cover.

He applied pressure and I couldn't breathe. I used my other hand, grabbing onto his offending leg and squeezed my eyes shut as I concentrated on the nearest objects I could find – two chairs and an abandoned purse.

The man was bombarded with wood and Gucci, and the foot loosened. With a move I saw on a cop show, I slipped out from underneath, rolled around and scissor-kicked, catching his legs between mine and knocking him over once more.

The man now had a bloody lip, cut forehead, and lipstick smeared across his cheek. He snarled at me as I went for him once more, going for his neck.

My fingers had almost reached its target when he brought his legs up and slammed both feet into my chest. I went flying.

I crashed into a table and tipped it over, but at least this one didn't have food on it. As I got up, I saw that the gunman was heading straight for me, apparently forgetting his original target Dr. Kane. His gun was still in hand. I decided to take care of that.

Lifting the fallen plates and utensils around me, I propelled them towards the attacker at terminal velocity.

The man saw the incoming missiles and prepared for impact, bringing his arms up to his face for protection. Sharp objects collided and he still kept going.

Geez, what did it take to stop this guy?

I turned to make sure Dr. Kane was still alive. This turned out to be a bad move. Yeah, she was fine, but I wasn't two seconds later when the gunman freight-trained right into me.

I was launched backwards once more, landing on my right leg in a rather painful manner. This time I realized how close I was to the windows and a very long drop. _Oh, please, if I die because I fell without somehow managing to stop this guy, then this all would be for noth_ –

My thoughts were interrupted when the gunman kicked me in the chest. While I was down, no less. For some reason, this made me even angrier.

It took two more kicks before I could get myself back up. Already the bruises and cuts were starting to catch up with me, and a limp was keeping me from putting too much pressure on my right leg.

My opponent hardly seemed bothered by all that I had done to try and stop him. I really needed to step up my game.

I dodged his first punch but caught the feint on my already bruised shoulder. Ow!

The guards finally seemed to understand what I was trying to do and one fired a shot at the gunman when I was a fair distance away (I was trying to think of a plan, putting distance between me and Kane in the hopes he'd still come after me). It seemed to work.

This bullet was more accurate than the assassin's. It caught him in the thigh, and the man roared in pain. He stumbled, clutching his bleeding wound. I stared – whoa, that's a lot of blood.

I actually started to feel sick. Oh, no. Not now. This was _not_ a good time.

The man stumbled closer to me, and I swung another chair at him. He tried to block the flying object, but a bullet seemed as much as he could take. Maybe I should bring a gun next time.

Nah. I could never explain a gun to Aunt May.

The man snarled at me, limping more heavily than I. His leg and arms were covered in blood from the wounds he sustained. Blood was blotting out one eye, so he had to squint, which really didn't improve on his ugliness. "Who the hell are you?"

I didn't answer because I didn't have one. Apparently, that was the appropriate response, because my silence evoked a look of terror on his face. "You're…you're one of _them_, aren't you?"

I had no idea what he was talking about, but I took the advantage and lunged forward. I actually thought I had the upper hand.

I learned that being a hero is not something to be overconfident about.

The man, gun still in hand, shot the window behind him. Realizing what he was about to do, I grabbed onto his shirt and pulled him back.

But the man was stronger and took my arm with both hands (dropping the gun out the window in the process), and didn't let go as he started to lean back.

Oh, no.

Guards were already rushing forward, attempting to stop the assassin's suicide attempt. Dr. Kane was among them. As she drew nearer, I saw her eyes grow wider at the sight of me, and she gasped.

Through the pandemonium I couldn't hear what she said, but I read her lips. "_The gloves!_"

She knew who I was. Fantastic.

My feet had already left the floor. Half of the man's body was out the window. Screams were escalating inside the room. I couldn't pull out of the man's grip, and I felt gravity take hold.

This was going to suck.

Behind me, through the screams, I heard a familiar voice shout. "The wings! Use them!"

Which made absolutely no sense to me, and by then it was too late. I was already tumbling through open air, my scream lost to the wind.

**OoOoO**

I didn't think I'd have to experience falling again, at least not like this.

I mean, ten stories were doable. But multiply that by another ten? Not even my superpowers and extraordinary good fortune liked me that much.

Not even Spider-Man could save me now. I waited for my life to flash in front of my eyes, but since I already died once, I was all out of coupons. I couldn't hear anything past the rushing wind, and the world was spinning far too much for me to make any sense of it. My radar was out of service for the same reason.

I wish I could impart some last words of wisdom, considering I was still in the state of mind to do so, but I was only drawing a blank. I'd make a great philosopher, wouldn't I?

Ugh, anyways.

What had that woman said? Use the wings? What wings? I didn't have…

Wait, no. It couldn't be. Had that been Dr. Kane? Did she actually…no way. She _did not_ give me gloves that could…but how…?

I didn't know how long I had left before I became a grease spot on the pavement of the City that Never Sleeps. For what felt like an eternity I fiddled with the gloves, shaking, squeezing, and general panicky motions to try and get them to do what I really hoped Dr. Kane said they would do. I got myself to a steady position so when I finally landed, I could break the world record for the longest belly-flop of all time.

Come on, stupid gloves, work! Do you _want _me to die? I swear, if you don't work, I'm seriously going to –

_FWOOOSH!_

"AHHHH!" Another scream erupted from my throat as I was suddenly launched back up, as if I had been on a slingshot the entire time. I got serious reverse whiplash in my neck simultaneously with the feeling of getting my arms ripped out of their sockets; a real pleasant experience to be having while falling to your death.

But I wasn't falling anymore. My arms suddenly felt a lot heavier and larger, and I was going upward like I had a rocket strapped to my back. Only, you know, they were wings.

Legitimate. Freaking. Wings.

I mean, my god. I was flying.

I was soaring over Manhattan. As I reached the pinnacle of my arc, I started to tip down again. It was around then I realized that someone was still going to die, and I performed an unintentional flip to get myself to fall again. Over the wind I heard people cheering and I looked up just in time to flash by the ballroom windows to see hundreds of guests jumping up and down, waving their arms in the air to see me with wings, actually flying.

Well, I think I would, too, honestly.

The man wasn't even screaming, apparently having accepted his fate. Which was a big no-no in my book. I needed this guy alive.

My wings helped me gain speed I otherwise wouldn't have without them, because otherwise I wouldn't have been able to catch up with him. Laws of physics and all.

The next problem was figuring out how to catch the assassin, because I couldn't use my arms. They were already occupied with the wings attached, and if I used them, well…they wouldn't be very useful as wings anymore.

My radar was back on track now that I was at a controlled fall. I circled around the falling man, trying to figure out a way to pick him up. While my radar could sense his physical presence, my telekinesis couldn't affect people, them being organic and sentient and all. Whether or not he was a dumb assassin.

But his clothes were very much _not_ sentient. Whether they could take the strain of his momentum was another matter entirely, but I couldn't worry about that. I only had a few seconds to spare before he went splat.

I Pulled on his clothes. The man didn't resist, apparently having passed out. I felt satisfaction as his fall started to slow, and I flapped my wings, and as I went back up, so did my grip on he, and our fall came to a rather wonderful stop.

Below, people were cheering. Policemen and paparazzi and civilians alike – all clapping and excited to know that there would be two less tragedies tonight. Lights of all kinds were pointed up in my direction, some focusing on me and the rest on the ragdoll-like man, who was limp spaghetti in my Hold.

People crowded around as I dropped his body to the ground, flapping my wings harder to avoid joining him. The policemen were talking into their radios. I was too far away to hear what they were saying, but I wasn't hanging around to get caught and arrested. Besides, my arms were already getting tired of all this flapping, and the wind it was causing was blowing off people's hats and off-setting cameras and equipment. There were thousands of flashes as people took pictures of me with their paparazzi cameras and cell phones, videotaping and recording on all sorts of devices. Some reporters extended microphones in my direction, asking questions, but I couldn't hear over the wind.

The cops descended upon the unconscious man, clapping on some handcuffs and hauling him up to take him in. As soon as I was sure he was detained, I rose higher and higher, taking huge flaps to give me bursts of momentum. I shot straight up, underestimating the strength of my winds, did another flip (that cracked my back) in order to remain balanced, and took off into the night sky.

I could finally rest my arms when I found an eddy to glide on. I tried not to look down, but the dizzying heights made me waver a little, and I almost lost control of my wings. Thankfully, they adjusted to the wind on their own, apparently equipped with a type of computer that sensed this stuff. It was only a guess, what with my limited understanding of robotics and computers, but it definitely wasn't _me_ doing all that.

After a few minutes, I felt myself get used to the height. Sure, my ears hurt from all the changes in pressure, but the helmet kept my face safe from the cold, stinging wind, and my leg didn't hurt so much anymore.

I slowly dropped lower and lower until I landed on top of the Chrysler building, sitting down on one of its giant eagle gargoyle things. My arms felt so numb they felt like they were going to fall off.

For the longest time I just sat there and examined the wings, trying to figure out how to close them, then open them again. It turned out to be a switch hidden in my wrist, activated when I stretched them in a certain way. At least they wouldn't be set off when I needed to throw a punch.

In the cool light from the building, I admired the glittering material of the wings, some sort of thin metal fiber with an iridescent sheen, woven into large plates resembling feathers. It certainly contrasted with my mostly-black suit. I must've looked like some bird of paradise with them all spread out. Whenever I flicked my wrists and they shrunk back into the gloves, I could see all the little folds they made along the surface, so compact that I could barely feel them. Yet they glittered like scales, something I hadn't noticed until now.

Around then I realized what I had done.

Oh, my god. This was going to be _everywhere_ on the news tomorrow.

Had any of them seen my face through the helmet? Right now, was my identity leaked onto the internet, in videos and blogs and pictures? How many celebrities and news outlets were talking about this right now? Who would I be tomorrow? A hero or a villain?

Maybe I shouldn't worry about this. Spider-Man never seemed to.

Speaking of which, where was he? I half expected him to come swooping out of the sky when I was falling, but nope. He was a total no show. And to think I could rely on a guy like whom reportedly saves the city every day. As if.

But that would have to wait for another day. Steeling my nerves, I made myself jump off the gargoyle, letting my wings expand and shoot me up into the sky. I turned towards Queens and my nice warm bed.

I really needed to get some sleep.


	10. Chapter 10: Afterimage

**Weee! Sorry, this took longer than expected. I didn't know how to end this chapter. But yay, now I do!  
**

**There's going to be a new POV next time that's not Spidey or anyone mentioned in this chapter. Just warning you. It's _that_ kind of story. I still don't know if I should do Falcon's POV in third person like last time or keep it with Amy's first person. I'll just go with what feels right.**

**Anyways, enjoy!  
**

**Read and review!**

* * *

**Chapter Ten**

**Afterimage**

I couldn't sleep that night. I was constantly terrified of Peter or Aunt May bursting in, demanding where I've been, or the police knocking on the front door, asking to see me.

I snuck into the guest room via window. Afraid that someone might hear, I jumped straight into bed, not even bothering with pajamas. I curled up and tried to get comfortable, but I was still too restless to sleep. At least tomorrow was Saturday.

Unfortunately, I didn't get much of a chance to sleep in. At around 5 AM the phone started to ring. Once more I became terrified, and let it ring as I lay in bed, hoping that the machine would pick it up.

It did. I heard Gwen's voice, not the least bit drowsy despite the hour. "Amy? Amy, are you there? We need to talk. Now."

Oh, god. I could _hear_ the Look in her tone.

Reluctantly, I pulled myself out of bed and picked up the phone near the dresser. Not two seconds after I dialed Gwen's number did she pick up. "This better be you, Amelia."

I sighed. "You guessed it."

"Turn on your TV."

I had been expecting her to accuse me of being a vigilante of justice, so understandably I was a little taken aback by her command. I quickly changed into pajamas before heading downstairs. The sky was barely glowing pick of dawn, the sun not yet breaching the horizon.

I flopped on the couch in the living room, phone still by my ear, and turned on the TV by way of remote. I yawned at least 3 times while I clicked through channels plagued with infomercials for the insomniacs (although I guess it's a little too late for that). I have no idea what anything good could be on at this hour. "Gwen, what's the big deal? You have any idea what time it is? I can't even –"

That's when I saw myself on the news.

Well, not _me_ me, but my helmeted alter ego from the night before. It was a shot taken from below, me hanging in midair looking down into the cameras, wings outstretched and synthetic feathers splayed. There were several light flares across the image, thanks to the dazzling rainbows reflected off the surface of my wings. I hadn't realized the effect be so outstanding when I examined them on top of the Chrysler tower, but those wings were clearly made to stand out.

"Oh."

The picture shrunk on the screen, now hovering beside the head of an anchorwoman, who's demeanor (wide eyes, lifted eyebrows, open expression) presented a curious wonder, but also the gravity of the situation with her voice, "_Pictures of this unidentified female vigilante has circulated overnight, and videos of her appearance at APEX tower has been making waves across the Internet. She has become an overnight sensation worldwide. Twitter and Facebook has exploded, activity increasing over 120% in the last seven hours, which is more than Spider-Man, New York's local webslinger, has made in the past six months._"

"_The winged woman prevented a disaster at the exposition in the APEX tower, stopping an armed man and saving his life when he fell out a window on the ninety-seventh floor. The police have confirmed that whoever hero was, she had anticipated the attack on Dr. Kane – a scientist renowned for her groundbreaking studies in robotics and technology and CEO of InTec – by a hired assassin in disguise. Authorities are still trying to figure out how our supposed heroine herself managed to get inside despite the tough security, reports saying that she was inside the ballroom at the same time as the attack, and in fact prevented the assassin from getting a clear shot._"

"You were right!" Gwen practically shouted in my ear. I jerked the phone away, wincing and bringing it back when she toned down her voice. "There _was_ an assassin. But what she said wasn't true. My dad and his team figured she got in the same way the assassin did – through the catering business hired to host the event. Some guy said that he had two new guys on his list that night, a woman and a man. The guy had a partner, apparently, but never showed up that night. He thinks it might have been a two-man job."

"Why are you telling me this?" Not that I was complaining (seriously, this is good stuff), but I wondered if Gwen might be treading on some laws by telling me all of this. "Does your dad know you're –"

"Of course not! Are you kidding me? I'd be grounded until I was thirty."

"Or maybe a jail sentence."

She ignored that one, or maybe thought it unlikely. Either way, she gave a rather indignant sniff and asked, "Did you go?"

"No, I lost my ticket." I lied. Well, it technically wasn't a lie. At least, no one could confirm it _was_. On the other side of the phone I heard a door slam and the sound of something breaking. "What was that?"

"Oh, crap, that's Dad," Gwen said in a hushed tone, and through the receiver I could hear her padding across the floor and shutting a door gently. She spoke again, "He doesn't know I'm up – pulled an all-nighter. But don't tell him I told you this, okay? He doesn't like it when I share confidential stuff. Leaking information is kind of a no-no in his book."

"You can trust me."

"Well, duh," She hissed, and I got the feeling _I_ was the one who should be worried. "I just told you everything I know. Plus, stuff they're keeping from the media so they can catch the second assassin."

"They didn't catch him?" My breath caught in my throat. "The sick guy, I mean?"

"Sick guy? What are you talking about?"

"Uh, I mean," I realized my mistake only too late, but tried to recover. "Well, he didn't show up, right? I just figured something must've kept him from participating…"

"Yeah, whatever. Look, I've got to go. Say nothing. See you Monday."

_Click_.

I looked at the phone, frowning in contemplation. That's when I heard footsteps coming from the stairs. I looked up to see Peter flop down on the couch beside me and rubbing his eyes, hair matted and going every which way. Peter emitted a yawn so huge I heard his jaw crack.

"I thought I heard voices," Peter said, his voice thick with sleep. "What's going on?"

"Oh, you know." I tried to play it off cool, because I _totally_ wasn't freaking out right now or anything. "Just a new superhero, no big deal."

"_What_?" Peter snapped to, suddenly wide awake. He grabbed the remote and blasted the volume. My alter ego was still on the screen. "When did _this_ happen?"

"Last night," I said, doing my best to keep my tone neutral. "At the APEX show."

"You mean that big thing with that doctor lady?"

"Yeah," I said, not wanting to say too much without giving myself away again. What if I revealed something only my alter ego – or the police – would know? I barely passed under Gwen's radar. "Captain Stacy was right; an assassin snuck in and tried to kill Dr. Kane. But then…_she _showed up."

On the TV, the anchorwoman was still speaking. "_Dr. Kane was asked for her opinion on this heroine._" It cut to an interview of Dr. Kane on the street below APEX tower, clearly made several hours prior since it was still dark out at the time. She was covered in a blanket but otherwise looking alive and strangely excited. "_It's her; the same person who saved my life in that alley. I think I have a guardian angel_."

The screen cut back to the anchorwoman. _"Dr. Kane has given no word on the design of this hero's costume, styled after her namesake, the oriole. This hero has given no name for herself, but has been dubbed by Dr. Kane as the Falcon, citing the Egyptian god Horus as her inspiration_."

"Why does the media get to name all the supers?" Peter asked, apparently miffed about something that really wasn't the biggest deal at the moment. "I mean, Spider-Man, Doctor Octopus, the Sand Man. Why can't we name ourselves?"

"Uh," I looked at him, raising my eyebrows. "We? Don't you mean 'them'?"

"Right, yeah," Peter nodded quickly, looking a little pale. Was he going vampire on me? "That's what I meant."  
"Sure."

"_I'm not a superhero_!" Peter blurted, defensive for some inexplicable reason.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," I leaned away from him, giving Peter a weird look. "Never said you were, hotshot."

"Oh." Peter deflated, hunching up his shoulders and giving me a weak smile "Ah, ha-ha, that's, um…this is… awkward."

I smirked. I don't know why, but I really loved making Peter squirm. "I'm sorry, is there a secret you want to share with me, Pete?"

"N-no," he shook his head, then jumped up from the couch. "I've – I've got no secrets. I'm, uh, I'm going to go back to bed now."

"Whatever," I said, turning back to the TV as Pete headed back up the stairs. What had _that_ been about? It was like I accused him of being a murderer or something. Besides, I already knew he was lying.

About not having secrets, I mean. _Everyone _has secrets.

What? Did you think I actually believed Peter was a superhero? Ha, don't be stupid. Peter had as much of a chance of being Spider-Man as aliens had visiting us from space. Honestly, if he _were_ Spider-Man, he wouldn't let Flash Thompson keep pushing him around all the time, considering that Flash was Spider-Man's number one fan. Plus, it would mean he was getting paid because he was selling pictures of himself. And I was pretty sure Spider-Man wouldn't do something like that. He's a hero, right? He wouldn't need the money.

I went back to bed soon after that; I actually got a few hours of sleep, now that I was sure no one knew who Falcon was. In fact, I had the best five hours of sleep in the past two weeks. My dreams were of bliss I couldn't recall later, only that they were happy and it made me feel good just to think about it again.

I got up later, when Aunt May left for groceries. Peter had gone off on some adventure taking photos of Spider-Man. During that time, I set upon my suit, taking it Aunt May's sewing machine she never uses anymore. It was ancient and covered in dust, but I cleaned it up before going to work. Aunt May also had spare material hanging around, so I began to work on improvements.

It may have taken an hour or two, but when I was done, I admired my work. It looked far better now – cameras may not know the difference, but I would if knives tried to pierce through me (bullets, however, are another matter entirely). My super-healing had kicked in overnight, most of my bruises already starting to fade, doing in two days what would have normally taken a week.

But the whiplash and sore muscles? Not so much.

I figured I could do with some exercise. Leaving a note for Aunt May saying I'd be at the library, I changed in my room, and slipped out my window. The fall was short, but a powerful thrust with my wings and I was shooting into the sky like a ballistic missile, going negative five to sixty in under three seconds.

The world grew smaller beneath me, the skyscrapers that once awed me were now eye-level with the horizon. I looked to the East, over the rest of Long Island. I bet if I flew up high enough, I could see the Hamptons.

At the end of my arc I leaned forward, arms outstretched, and went down in what felt like a really dangerous roller-coaster ride.

I swooped over the East River. I didn't really have time to enjoy the whole _I'm-Freaking-Flying_ thing last night, but this totally made up for it. The sun bounced off the water and every time I looked at my wings I was blinded.

Ahead of me, a fishing boy lay – I could see a couple fishermen on board, hauling in nets of desperate-to-not-be-sushi fish flapping about. One of them had already pointed me out, crying out words I couldn't hear over the wind, but his pal didn't see me until I was ten feet away and coming in hot.

I shot over them so fast that the back draft blew off their hats and almost dropped their load of fish. It wasn't a few seconds later did I realize I was laughing, but what could I say? Their expressions were priceless!

Okay, sure, it was a little rude, but no one got hurt. And I, for one, was having the time of my life.

I hit an eddy and let it carry me up over the Queensboro Bridge. The cars and trucks below looked like Lego pieces, the people tiny polka dots. Just for kicks I dropped in through the lattice of metal and ducked in and around the crisscrossing support bars.

Cars honked as I went low – not close enough to touch, of course, but then an eighteen-wheeler came my way and I had to make a hasty lane change over to the pedestrians walk – and nearly took out a man in a fancy suit. Before I could cause any more trouble, I gave another flap of my wings and got the heck out of there.

I rose over the city, the skyscrapers rendered to basic shapes beneath me. This has been the most fun I've had in years.

The gust of wind dissipated and I dropped. Too suddenly, in fact, and I struggled to right myself. I went into a nosedive that I couldn't seem to pull out of.  
_Ohcrapohcrapohcrap_…I tried to straighten out my wings, but the g-force was too strong for my arms to fight against. It was like I was being compressed into a vacuum tube. I shot passed the first skyscraper. I had maybe a thousand or so feet before I smashed into two O' clock traffic.

I pulled back, perhaps a little too hard. I did an unintentional flip before finally getting release from the g-force and opened my arms as wide as possible.

Wind buffeted into the wings like a parachute being unfurled. I was slammed back like I hit a brick wall. My feet grazed the edge of an SUV before I pulled back up and I very nearly averted a nasty car crash.

My breath finally caught up with me as I regained stability over traffic. After I made sure everything was in order (i.e. I hadn't completely lost my head or anything), I took to surveying the streets. People had already begun to notice me. Over the wind I could hear yelling and shouting, maybe even some cheers. Looking down, I met with the gaze of several onlookers, all pointing up at me. At first I kind of just stayed there, unsure of what to do.

Then I heard a siren go off behind me. I twisted around, looking for the source. A store – some fancy place for jewelry where only the supremely wealthy shopped – was being held up at gunpoint. A trio of ski-masked goons had burst through the doors, duffel bags packed with stolen goods, and armed with big guns you only see in the movies.

I was hesitant to get into a fight when I was the only one without a weapon – then I remembered that I had the best one.

The robbers hadn't seen me yet, still holding off any civilian who might try to play hero. Cars didn't seem to be affected by the trouble, and there was a getaway van parked with poor skill on the curb. They were slowly edging their way towards their escape. I couldn't hear any sirens, but even if I did, it would still be a while before the cops could make it here through all the traffic.

I dropped down on the roof of the SUV, sheathing my wings and smiling to myself as the victims noticed but the attackers did not. The victims inside the store seemed to be deciding whose side I was on – or perhaps criticizing my poor fashion sense. I had no idea with these rich people.

In the moments it took me to come up with a witty one-liner, the robbers finally realized that their hostages weren't looking at them anymore. At once they turned, crying out in surprise and pulling the triggers on their guns.

Some people screamed, anticipating the bullets that never fired. The robbers shook their jammed guns in confusion, smacking at the safety catches that wouldn't budge. Their screams died in their throat as they continued to watch the robbers struggle with their uncooperative guns. The robbers, of course, were too preoccupied to prevent what came next.

I didn't know how to disassemble a gun as complex as the ones they carried, but it didn't take too much effort to rip them from their arms and throw them down the gutter (gently). The robbers jumped away from me, dropping their bags and crying out in terror – apparently they were new to supernatural phenomena.

Dropping down, I landed feet first on the chest of the nearest robber, who dropped to the concrete like a rock. I guess he was in the process in passing out anyways, because he was out like a busted light before he hit the ground.

The second goon thought he had the upper hand with his height and extra two hundred pounds of body fat, but I sensed his approach from behind and twisted around at the last moment. I dropped and swept my leg – in mid-run, with all his weight balanced on one foot, the robber toppled as soon as my shin connected with his ankle.

He slammed onto the top of the first robber, who groaned but didn't get up. Ugly Number Two tried to get back up, but I was on my feet before him, and delivered a powerful kick to his head. I knew it was powerful, because my toe was throbbing for a full two hours afterward.

I looked around, expecting another fight. But Ugly Number Three was gone.

Flicking my wrists, I was in the air in a moment. If there was one thing I had over super fast criminals, it was the sky. I circled the area, scanning the streets for a masked criminal. But things looked different from up here, and no one I could see was wearing a black ski mask. There _was_, however, a man who appeared very late for work, tearing across the sidewalk like his pants were on fire. He left a trail of knocked-over pedestrians waving their fists in his wake.

I took off, flying in 2.3 seconds the distance he ran in twenty. I meant to land in front of him but underestimated my speed. I dropped down too fast too soon, and instead of scaring the pants off the guy by dropping down in front of him, I took a page from the NY Giant's playbook and slammed into the runaway at terminal velocity.

"AARRGGHH!" he cried out, skidding on tarmac for a good ten feet. My momentum carried me forward and I tumbled off his back. This elicited more cries from civilians as they threw themselves out of the way.

I scrambled to my feet, now hearing the sirens that sounded terrifyingly close. Oh, man, how long had that taken? My crash-landing effectively subdued the robber's would-be getaway. He wasn't going anywhere. I, however, still had time to get the heck out of Dodge.

There were clicking noises everywhere. At first I thought it was because I found myself in front of a typewriter shop. But nope – it was the dozens of cameras and phones taking pictures and videos of me. I just stood there, dumbfounded, looking around at all these people.

No, no. My legs wouldn't move, my arms didn't respond to my thoughts. I was petrified by all of these people looking at me. A woman was sticking a recorder at me, asking questions. Heck, they were _all_ asking questions. The same questions, the unanswerable ones.

"Whoa, that was so cool! Where'd you learn to do all that?"

"Falcon, is that really your name? Are you affiliated with the company APEX or InTec? Was Dr. Kane right to vouch for your reputation?"

"Hey, what's under the helmet, super chick? Where'd you get that snazzy suit?"

"Can you talk? Or are you the strong, silent type? Come on, give us a quote!"

_Aaagggghhhhh_, I think I was going to lose it. Finally getting a hold of myself, I whipped out my wings. One vertical liftoff into the sky later and I left all that behind me.

Man, if I wanted to continue this saving-the-city stuff, I needed to stay clear of the hero paparazzi. And maybe some tact.

I kept this up for the entire weekend. It's hard to believe how exhausting hero work was, but I also had no idea how crime-ridden New York City and its neighboring boroughs were. I had my work cut out for me as I stopped three burglaries, seven car thieves, a bank hold-up, one pet-napper (the poodle apparently belonged to a very prominent actress), and three irritable customers harassing a waitress.

Each time I flew in and saved some lives (and a dog), and each time pictures were taken. Some people asked for autographs, but I was too freaked out by this strange new celebrity. No one's ever paid me this much attention before, no one would try to get themselves in a picture with me trying to get away from them. How did Spider-Man deal with these people? He had fans, certainly, but I never heard of him getting mobbed by hysterical civilians.

The weekend went by without serious incident. I finished my homework, did my chores, kept up with the news (Falcon got even more coverage with each crime I foiled or stopped). The cops remained neutral on their opinion of me, and J. Jonah Jameson had yet to voice his, since he was too busy blaming the recent subway crashes on Spider-Man (who save all the passengers on board). I didn't know if I was looking forward to or resenting the possibility of meeting the resident superhero.

It was Sunday night and I was cruising Harlem's airspace; by then I wondered if I'd ever see Spider-Man at all. I mean, hell, you were lucky enough to see him as a civilian. Not that I was actively searching for him as Falcon, but still – I thought I'd get a better chance of some face time with the red-and-blue leotard-clad guy.

Well, that is, until I was snatch right out of the air, plucked mid-flight like hawk's prey. I had been going too fast to avoid an equally fast and incredibly sneaky (I couldn't register what the other flying object was, too small to be a helicopter but too big to be a bird) – I had no idea what to think in the split second he was in my radar. And by then it was too late.

_Swish! _

An arm wrapped around my neck and knocked against my shoulder, wrecking my flight pattern. At the speed we were going, the momentum and my sudden change in direction (down) meant that we were now heading uncontrollably into the nearest building. I tried to shake off my hitchhiker, but even though he didn't seem to be holding on very hard, his grip couldn't be loosened. With a passenger on board, the added weight and speed would make the force of our fall all the greater. I knew this landing was going to hurt.

I had been worried about crashing into a brick wall, but my passenger tilted to the left, changing the course of our descent. Instead, we had a much more comfortable landing on the gravel-covered roof.

There was an explosion of pebbles and dirt on touchdown. My left shoulder exploded into pain. I meant to crush my attacker by flipping over on my back but only made it half-way. My helmet kept my face from getting ripped off, but impact left me so delirious that I couldn't see or think past the pain in my head.

By the time I had regained consciousness (or at least the ability to see), I realized there was a foot planted on my chest, and leaning into my face was none other than the great Spider-Man himself.

"We need to talk."

OoOoO

The Boss looked over the newspaper, grazing the headline 'FALCON: FRIEND OR FOE?' with his index finger. Below the title was a blown-up image of the dame herself – all black, with the red-orange crest, and all-concealing helmet. Glittering wings that blinded the camera lens. All told of a vigilante out for revenge.

"Looks like we have a new enemy on our hands," he said aloud, to no one in particular. He swung in his sweat, glancing furtively at the smoking man in the corner. The light of his desk did not reach that far, yet the glowing red end informed the boss that he was listening attentively. "A tiny little lady dressed up as a bird. First she foils the two attempts on the beautiful Dr. Kane, then prevents my men from getting my money at the General and Wells Bank. I find this very insulting, son. Why isn't she dead yet?"

The smoking man didn't speak. He didn't trust himself to.

"I think three days is long enough for her reign. Track her down and kill her."

The smoking man paused before finally speaking. "How? Not even the media knows who she is. Stacy can't even figure it out, and he has an army of detectives. All we have is blood money and family ties."

"Then use them, son," the boss tilted his head, scowling. Usually his men weren't so…reluctant to do their job. In fact, he had cousins who relished in them. "A woman who thrice times have defied this family is no coincidence. It's motive, its determination. These aren't mistakes. We don't know what she knows. In fact, we know even less than the police do. I don't like that at all, son. I don't like not knowing."

"What do you want me to do, then?"

"Learn. Learn for me. Go out there and find me what I want." The boss ordered. A small smile pulled at his weathered face. "I have a family to support, son. I can't let them down."

The smoking man dipped his head. "Of course, sir."

He got up from his post in the corner and headed for the door. Just as his hand was on the knob, the boss spoke from behind. "Oh, and how is our charge doing? I hope she is being… cooperative."

The smoking man glanced behind him. "No more than usual."

"Ah, that's too bad. I'm afraid we'll have to keep her a little longer, then. Our old friend still hasn't come out of hiding. But that's none of your concern. Keep her well, and I'll ensure he returns."

"And then?"

"Eye for an eye, son. Retribution."


	11. Chapter 11: Emotional Contagion

**Chapter Eleven**

**Emotional Contagion**

_This isn't happening._

That was the only thing going through Jacqueline Fletcher's mind.

This was the stuff of the movies her daughter, Amelia, always watched. Tied to a chair, locked in a dark room with no windows, conversing with dark-suited men in sunglasses. Were they military, mob, or spies? It was impossible to tell. They spoke many languages, the ones she couldn't understand, and their accents were perfect.

They didn't tell her why she was there. Asked questions, kept her feed, clean. She never realized how much she cherished a shower and a warm meal until now. She'd love a bed, but the cold hard floor has been her mattress for a while now.

The questions were few, interspersed with stretches of time, and incredibly vague and inconsequential if they were looking for something so important that they needed to kidnap her. _How old are you? What's your real name? Where were you before New York? Were you in a circus? Have you been trained in any martial art? Combat?_

35. Jacqueline Fletcher. A farm in Pennsylvania. No, but one came to our town every summer. No and no.

Stupid questions. Why did they bother asking?

That's when Ms. Fletcher started to think that maybe they weren't looking at all. Maybe they were waiting.

For what, she still had no idea. But her suspicions were confirmed one morning when she asked the boss of her captors, a man who always smoked a cigar, how long she was going to be here.

"When a friend of ours shows up."

So far, their _friend_ was keeping under the radar. Ms. Fletcher figured she must have some connection with this so-called friend, otherwise why would she be here? But after going through years and years of people she'd met and trying to understand how any of them would have ties to…_these _people had her at a loss. She certainly wouldn't _want_ to associate herself with them.

Except…

Jacqueline had always known he was trouble, but even then she had barely known him three months. Then she left, never once saw or heard from him again. And she had promised herself never to look back.

But it was so long ago. Of all the people _he_ knew, she was the only one they could track down? She didn't want to think so.

Her thoughts boiled on things other than _him_, however. Amelia, for instance – the last Jacqueline Fletcher had seen her daughter she was being pushed out a window. At the time, Jacqueline had nearly lost her mind. For days she wallowed in mourning, not speaking to her captors despite their questions (they had been more insistent at the beginning), at least until she heard the TV.

Whoever her captors were, wherever she was being held, had a TV somewhere. A TV that was often left unmuted, and allowed Jacqueline Fletcher to eavesdrop. That was how she heard of the miracle, the incredibility of her daughter surviving a fall from a ten-story window. She didn't even care that no one had any idea where she was or that her disappearance was a mystery to just about everybody – Jacqueline was just glad her daughter was alive.

That kind of reassurance could empower someone, especially a mother. Jacqueline never considered herself a violent or aggressive person, but she certainly knew how to be proactive. While Amelia's safety was a priority, her daughter was completely clueless to the situation, while her mother knew exactly who her captors were looking for. Or, well, a pretty good idea, at least. And their failure to destroy the one thing most important to Jacqueline Fletcher would certainly be their last.

But even days after deciding to escape, Ms. Fletcher still hadn't a clue how to do it. How does one get out of a cold, dark room? Even the bathroom was devoid of windows, and the ventilation shaft was too small for her to fit.

Still, there was no way she could stay here for much longer. She couldn't count on their 'friend' returning, so she had to make her own way out somehow.

Ms. Fletcher sighed. No matter if or when she got out of here, she just hoped her daughter remained safe and out of trouble.

**OoOoO**

Falcon tried to shove Spider-Man's foot off her chest. He didn't budge.

"You know, I get it," Spider-Man said, even though she hadn't spoken yet. "I've got a bunch of crazy fans. Some would say _too_ crazy, even. I mean, it's flattering and all, you trying to become a superhero, but you'd be doing the city a favor by sticking to, like, recycling and stuff. At least that's what the NYFD says."

"Get off!" she shouted, thrusting up her hand. A burst of wind exploded from her palm, hitting Spider-Man square in the chest and launching him into the air. She shot to her feet, clutching her stomach. It felt bruised now, but she doubted it would be that way for long. "I'm not your fan."

"Wow, message _received_," Spider-Man landed perfectly on top of a well tower, rubbing his head. "So, where'd you get _your_ superpowers? A bottle? Gamma radiation?"

"No," Falcon. grumbled, a little peeved to be attacked by a fellow superhero, just to get interrogated on stuff that she planned to keep private. "Isolated incident. Not on the news."

He snapped his fingers, appearing disappointed (Falcon couldn't really tell, behind that mask). "Dang. And I was _so_ looking forward to doing deep-sea research on you. I can't believe that you achieved the same popularity in two days that took me five months! I mean, are you _trying_ to break a record, or were you just jealous?"

Falcon was beginning to like this guy less and less. She didn't want to discuss media tactics with a red-and-blue idiot. She turned around and mumbled, "Sounds like _you're_ the jealous one."

"I heard that."

She threw him an irritated look, and then realized it would have no effect hiding behind her helmet. Frustrated, she jumped onto the edge of the roof, looking down into the street below. _Let's ditch this Popsicle stand_. _Ooo, that's a good one. I should say that aloud next time._ "I'd love to stay and chat, but I've got better things to do."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa there!" Falcon was just about to jump off when something smacked into her arm and yanked her back onto the roof. Unbalanced, she landed on her butt and twisted her head over her should to Spider-Man, still on the well tower, lassoing her with a rope of web. "Where are you going? We just met!"

"Yeah, well, I know as much about you as I want to, thanks," Falcon tried to pull the web off her arm, but was alarmed to find how sticky it was. Liquid in appearance, but bonded instantly upon contact. Now she couldn't let go, no matter how hard she tugged. "Ugh, what is this stuff?"

"It's called spider's web. They use it to catch their prey," Spider-Man said patronizingly. "Or birdbrains who don't have to talk to other people because they thing they're better than that. You know how rude that is?"

Falcon wasn't about to admit that her silence wasn't out of arrogance or hostility – she just never had anything clever to say, especially in the midst of a fight. But this itself prevented her from saying anything, and Spider-Man only got silence in reply. "All right, now you're mocking me. I've always wondered when I'd meet another hero, but I thought they'd be cooler."

Did he ever shut up? "Will you let me go, please?"

"Well, since you asked nicely…"

A sharp yank and the web was gone. Falcon was surprised how easy he made it look. That _had _to take muscle. And practice. Lots and lots of practice.

Okay, so he was an idiot with skill. That didn't make him any less annoying. "Are you going to fly off again? Because I'd really hate to have to string you up, just to get you to talk. I mean, if you will at all…"

She gazed at him uncertainly. It didn't occur to her until now that Spider-Man may have ulterior motives, but then what? Falcon didn't know what he could gain from talking to her, unless he was, in fact, working for someone. Whoever they were, they must be pretty desperate if they're willing to put up with him. "Why?"

"Dunno," he shrugged, dropping to floor level.

He was about a head taller than her, but then who wasn't? Still, Falcon wasn't pleased to find that even though her boots added about an inch or so to her height, Spider-Man still towered over her. She didn't like having to lean back to look him in the face. "Then what's the big deal? I've got stuff I need to do."

"What kind of stuff?"

"The…superhero kind. You know."

"Anyone in particular?"

Falcon paused. She had always wanted to do it, but now presented with the question – could she really find the people who took her mother? Was it possible, now protected with anonymity and super powers, that she could finally seek justice on her own? It was certainly tempting…

And really, how hard could it be?

"Maybe," she said after long minute, still feeling a little uncertain. "I guess that depends. You know any guys with a moon-shaped scar on his face, wearing a black trench coat and carrying around a gun?"

"Yeah," he said, and Falcon's heart nearly jumped out of her throat. "I bagged, like, ten of those guys. All in jail now. Why, you got some beef with one of them?"

Her heart fell. So that narrowed down the pool of suspects to…all of New York. "Let's just say he took something important to me and I want it back, and I'll do whatever I have to do to make it happen."

Spider-Man tilted his head. "When you say 'whatever I have to do,' you mean…"

"Uh…" Falcon hadn't thought of that. She needed to really think about her dramatic lines before she opened her mouth. Now she sounded like an idiot. Come on, think of something cool to say! "I mean _whatever I have to do_."

Woo. Nice save.

"Okay," Spider-Man nodded, taking a step back , rubbing his chin in contemplation. "You're serious. Mind telling me what's so important you want back?"

No. That could reveal her identity. Falcon shook her head, glancing over her shoulder to look at the street below. She _really_ wanted to go. "Sorry, that's need-to-know only. Look, if that's what you –"

A siren interrupted her.

They both turned in the direction of the disturbance, Falcon almost tripping over herself in her urgency. Grasping the edge of the building, she watched as two cars, one a large black van and the other a police cruiser; squealing through the streets on a wild chase.

The buildings on either side lit up as the occupants of the black van fired at the cops, their aim thrown off by the driver's rather poor abilities.

Falcon was going to ask Spider-Man what they should do, but was startled to find he was no longer by her side. The red and blue web head had already jump from the roof, swinging on ropes of web as he followed the chase.

She almost flipped over the edge of the building in her attempt to catch up. Falcon righted herself and launched herself into the air, unsheathing her wings as she started to fall.

The wind didn't start to catch until she was almost to the street, but a strong flap and she gained a burst of height and speed.

Falcon overtook Spider-Man quite easily, she discovered. In fact, she had already landed on top of the careening van by the time he noticed her and shouted, "Hey! No fair!"

She grinned behind her helmet, pleased to have gotten under his skin. "You have to keep up, Web-head!"

"Oh, a nickname! How original!" he shouted, dropping onto the van beside her, and sticking to it much easier than she did. She grasped the ribbing of the van for dear life, and didn't expect the kick to the chest. "Let's see how great your wings are now!"

Falcon lost her grip and tumbled off the side of the road. She hit tarmac before she could catch air, but her wings didn't take too much damage, bending easily under pressure. She felt the tailing police car charging straight for her and brought up her hands.

There was a resounding _CRUNCH _when the cruiser hit an invisible, yet very solid wall. The cops inside, thankfully, had their seatbelts on, and only seemed a little dazed. The wheels had stopped barely a foot from her face.

Falcon scrambled up and made vertical liftoff, the back draft from her wings sending loose trash everywhere. She decided to seek payback by slamming both feet into Spider-Man's back upon approach to the van, effectively flattening him on the roof ("_OW_!"), before leaping off and landing on the hood of the van.

The driver's cries were muffled by the windshield, but the guy sitting shotgun with a shotgun reacted much more strongly. He swiveled his gun around and pulled the trigger, only to find the gun jammed. A sudden gust of wind startled the man when it yanked it from his grasp and fell behind on the ground.

With the gun gone, the man's arm was now exposed. Before he pulled it back in, Falcon noticed a strange tattoo on the inside of his wrist. Printed white, it looked oddly like a flower. It was gone before she could get a closer look.

The now weaponless gunman grit his teeth and shouted something at the hero on his hood, who was trying to hold on as the van swerved back and forth. Falcon couldn't hear what he said over the engine and squealing tires, but time spent lip-reading proved helpful in understanding the colorful insults.

On the roof, Spider-Man had already peeled himself off the roof of the van and was making his way toward her. He shot web at her, but Falcon anticipated the attack and dodged, almost slipping off the car in the process. "Hey! This one is mine! I was here first!"

"I was here longer!" Spider-Man retorted, flipping over the edge of the hood and swiping a fist at her. Falcon rolled on her back and pulled around her leg, hooking her ankle around his shin and pulling the hero down with her. "Watch it! You're going to get us killed!"

"No, really!" Falcon was too angry to think rationally. Spider-Man was a nuisance before, but she didn't actually think he'd _stop_ her from doing her job. Wasn't there some sort of hero-to-hero courtesy around here? "That didn't seem to bother you when you _kicked me off the car!_"

She dug her heel into Spider-Man's palm and felt something crunch underneath. He gasped, yanking back his injured appendage. "No! It's broken!"

Falcon felt like gloating, but it was then she noticed something was wrong. Namely, the driver was no longer driving. In fact, he wasn't even in the car anymore. The door was swinging loosely on the side.

"Jump!" she cried, slamming both feet into Spider-Man, simultaneously knocking herself off. She hit the ground once more, just in time to feel a burst of heat as the van collided into a brick wall and burst into flame.

Sore, bruised, and a little more than ticked off, Falcon picked herself off the ground and inspected the damage. No one was left in the car; the thugs abandoned the vehicle, thinking the two heroes would get themselves killed when it crashed. Falcon was frustrated with herself for being tricked so easily.

"Jump?" said a voice behind her. "How as that a _jump_?"

Falcon whirled around, rage consuming her once more. That – that _moron!_ "This is all _your_ fault!"

"_My_ fault?" Spider-Man cried, offended. He jabbed a finger at her, "It's _you_ who got in my way! I had it covered!"

"So did I! Until _you_ pushed me off and let me get run over by a police car!"

"You didn't get run over!"

"Yeah, well," Falcon faltered, realizing her mistake, but recovered quickly enough. She felt herself approaching him far too quickly, and couldn't stop herself – her fists were shaking so hard she thought she might punch Spider-Man. "I almost did! I had to stop them, no thanks to you! And what was that all about, tackling me in mid-air and slamming me into the ground like that! Is that how you normally treat people?"

"Okay, granted, it wasn't my _best_ idea…" Spider-Man took several steps back before she could get a good shot at him. "But I had every right to be suspicious! Do you have any idea what kind of world it is out here? You can't trust anyone!"

"You got that right, you –" Falcon didn't get a chance to finish when the two policemen from the cruiser rushed onto the scene, guns drawn and alert.

"Where are the crooks?" one of them demanded, scanning the area for danger. Falcon didn't realize he was addressing her until he turned to her and asked, "Well? Did you catch them?"

Falcon's anger was replaced by shame. She stepped back from Spider-Man (who seemed a little relieved afterwards), clenching and unclenching her fists. In fighting Spider-Man, she forgot the bigger issue at hand here. She glanced at Spider-Man, who seemed to be concentrating on his feet.

"Load of help you lot are," the second one grumbled, reaching for his radio and speaking into it, "Yeah, we lost 'em. Looks like the city's protectors scared them away."

"We better set a perimeter, they couldn't have gotten far," The first one said, looking around the way they came. "Slow guys. Probably newbies for the White Rose."

"The what?" Spider-Man and Falcon asked at the same time. They gave each other dirty looks but refrained from doing anything else.

The policemen exchanged wary glances before one of them replied, "One of New York's worst mafia families. Been here since the sixties, responsible for more than half of all the crimes in the tri-state area. We've been trying to crack down on them, but they're old school. They don't leave witnesses."

_No witnesses_.

A tremor passed through Falcon. She took a deep breath. "H-how do you know these guys are White Rose?"

"Tattoos, usually. Sometimes jewelry, but that's for the fancy guys. A white rose, usually on the inside of the wrists, or back of the neck." He told her, pointing to the spots he mention. The cop slid his gun away and crossed his arms. "Why, you thinking of helping us out? Hope you're planning on improving your game, because these guys don't play nice. They'll mop the floor with you."

"Thanks," Spider-Man said, hooking a thumb to himself. "But I think I can handle myself."

"Sure, when your head isn't so big." Falcon muttered under her breath.

"I heard that."

She cringed but turned to the group at large. "You know, it's been great getting to know you all, but I gotta split. See you…hopefully never."

And like that Falcon was off. She didn't want to talk to anyone anymore.

Besides, she had some things to think about. The White Rose…why did she feel that it was so familiar? She was sure she had never heard of it before until now, yet the sudden case of déjà vu was leaving her dizzy and confused. As if her mind didn't have enough to think about.

She needed a place to think. Unfortunately, she didn't know any place where Spider-Man couldn't find her.

Which turned out not to matter because he caught up with Falcon anyways. Spider-Man managed to keep up with her, swinging and flipping down the streets. For once, Spider-Man didn't seem to want to attack her. "So, you going to tell me what that was all about?"

Falcon didn't answer.

"Oh, come on, the silent treatment again? This is getting annoying. Come on, tell me. You got beef with the White Rose, don't you?"

Falcon bit her lip, catching an eddy and resting her arms for a moment. "Maybe. What's it to you?"

"Just asking. Seriously though, you want to fight an entire mafia? Have you ever watched _The Godfather_? It didn't end well for practically anybody."

"Yeah, I know," she grumbled, but he wouldn't have been able to hear her over the wind. "I think…I think they're the ones after Dr. Kane. They the ones trying to kill her."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, back up!" he said, almost forgetting to shoot out a rope of web to swing on and fell back for a few moments. "What makes you think that? You can't just say big, famous people have mob ties! That's like…social suicide!"

"Says the chew toy of the _Daily Bugle_."

"Okay, first of all, J. Jonah Jameson has an unreasonably strong hatred towards me," Spider-Man protested with a finger raised. "Secondly, not the point. Look, do you want help or something? Because, I don't know, fighting the mob doesn't isn't a good idea to be doing on your own."

"Oh, now you want to help me?" Falcon snorted, wavering in her flight pattern as she got distracted for a moment. Like, really? First, he almost gets her killed, now he wants to help? Does he have some sort of split-personality she had yet to learn about? "Wow, that would have been nice, like, ten minutes ago when I was trying to stop those dirtbags from escaping."

Spider-Man heaved a sigh. "Okay, so we didn't get off on a good start. But that doesn't mean I don't have honest intentions. Come on, Falcon. You're crazy to take them on all on your own."

"I never said I _was_ taking them on."

"You didn't? Oh. Well, it was implied."

"I think you should go."

"I think I should stay. You know, bad guys become bad guys for this very reason. Exacting their revenge or whatever. I mean, how do you think Luke Skywalker would have turned out if he killed Darth Vader? It wouldn't have ended well for the Rebel Alliance."

Oh, good, she was talking to a movie nerd. Well, at least there was _something_ they could connect with. Falcon sighed. "_Fine. _I'll try not to get obsessed with revenge, but only if you promise never to quote Yoda, okay?"

Somehow, Falcon could sense Spider-Man grinning behind his mask. "Deal. So, what should we do first?"

"Uh…What?" Falcon was a little confused. She didn't have…anything, really. And she didn't know why he would be so excited to get things started.

"Like, clues and stuff? How did you figure this all out?"

"Well, you've been paying attention to the news, right? I mean, the attacks on Dr. Kane were planned. And her mentor, Dr. Pigott, killed himself and destroyed his work before anyone else to get to it. He must've had some pretty bad enemies to press the self-destruct button. And when Dr. Kane inherited whatever he had left, his enemies had a new target. That's all I have, I swear."

"So, this _isn't_ about revenge? Only justice, righteous mystery solving?" Spider-Man demanded. "These aren't the same guys who took whatever you're looking for, right?"

Falcon almost forgot how to fly. She dropped perhaps ten feet before she straightened her arms out and picked up speed again. Spider-Man dropped back, easily keeping pace. "Okay, I'll take that as a yes… Maybe?"

"I, um, didn't think of that. But it wouldn't make sense. They had no reason to take my – to take them away."

"Them? Wait, they _kidnapped_ someone?" Spider-Man shouted, and she wanted to kick herself for being so stupid. "Falcon, do you know how serious this is? That means you have mob ties, doesn't it?"

"No, I don't!" Falcon snapped, flapping her arms indignantly and shooting ahead. Spider-Man hastened to keep up. "Look, I know – I _know_ for a fact that-that who the White Rose took did _not_ have mob ties. They…they weren't anything like that. They just…it wouldn't even make any sense. Okay? No, I don't have mob ties."

Spider-Man still seemed suspicious, but didn't voice his opinions until after they dodged a helicopter scanning the streets. "Okay, let's say, hypothetically, _you_ don't have mob ties. But how do you know the person they took didn't, like for sure? Like the cops said, the White Rose is old school. Whoever they were, they could've been really good at hiding it."

Falcon didn't see how. Her mother _baked and cooked_. She grew up on a farm, didn't even finish high school. Not exactly mob material. Yes, she was away often, and exhausted getting back, but she didn't exactly have the body strength to carry big guns or hold up a bank. "Believe me, no mob ties whatsoever. It couldn't have been the same people. The White Rose doesn't have a reason to."

"Whatever you say," Spider-Man replied, although she still heard doubt in his voice. "I guess we'll just have to wait and see, huh?"

"I guess so."


	12. Chapter 12: Reciprocity Principle

**Sorry this took so long, I've been distracted with school and writer's block. God, I had no idea what I wanted to do in this chapter. I almost forgot how it fit with the Spectacular storyline. I almost put it _after_ Halloween when it was supposed to be before. Had to rewatch some episodes.  
**

**Anyways, sorry if this is boring and long, I just couldn't find a place to stop that would make sense. Amy is having a very long day today.  
**

**Enjoy!  
**

* * *

**Chapter Twelve**

**Reciprocity Principle**

I didn't see Spider-Man at all for the rest of the week. I thought that was kind of unusual; annoying people tend to follow you around, hence the annoyance.

But he had his own thing to do, and I had homework due Monday. Which wasn't as bad as it would've been several weeks ago – homework didn't make my brain want to self-destruct anymore. I almost enjoyed it, actually. Well, except Shakespeare, but that's his problem.

The first thing I did getting to school, however, was _not_ passing in extra credit – in fact, the first thing I did was get kidnapped by Gwen.

Let me repeat – _Gwen kidnapped me_. No one has been able to sneak up on me since my radar had first made its appearance (except Spider-Man, but I guess that's a superhero thing). I was just moseying down the hall, minding my own business when something latches onto the back of my hoodie and yanks me back so hard I choked. My books thumped to the floor when someone planted me against a wall of lockers, and I was going to go all kung-fu-ninja on their butts before I realized it was Gwen giving me the Look.

I swear, I was _two inches_ from flipping her on her back. I mean, I didn't actually know how to do that, but honestly it couldn't have been too hard. "Gwen! _What the hell!_"

"Did you tell anyone?" she demanded, having no idea how close she was to getting prime treatment from a hyped-up superhero.

My mind blanked. I had no idea what she was talking about. "W-what?"

"Oh, my god, you _forgot_ all ready?" Gwen rolled her eyes, backing off and throwing her arms up into the air. "Where have you been in the past two days? Haven't you been watching the news?"

No, I've been _making_ the news. "Uh, not since you called Saturday. Why, did something major happen?"

"Did something 'major' happened?" Gwen demanded, glaring at me. I felt incredibly victimized and I wasn't sure what I did to earn this anger. I pressed myself against the wall of lockers as Gwen continued to rant, "Amy! Why do you think they call it _the news_? Of course something major happened! The White Rose made its first public statement!"

I was actually too stunned to speak. All of my fear was gone now, replaced by trepidation. And excitement. I had gotten their attention! "What? What did they say?"

Gwen gave me a look that said my question was stupid. "Okay, you _know_ how the mob works, don't you? It's not like they send a letter or Youtube video to the police. It's more like…a message."

I failed to understand. "Well, what kind of message?"

Gwen huffed, crossing her arms. "The kind with dead bodies."

"Oh."

"Yeah, 'oh'. Those guys Falcon stopped at the bank robbery were ambushed on the way to the precinct, still in the police cruiser. Three black cars pulled in its way and opened fire with automatics, killed fifteen people, including those in the car. The whole NYPD is on red alert. Dad is terrified of civilians getting hurt."

I could actually feel the blood drain from my face. Oh, no. Spider-Man had a point in me being too bold. Now I had made myself a target to the White Rose, and anyone who got into the crossfire was my fault. Now fifteen people were dead because of me.

No! Becoming Falcon was supposed to help the guilt, not make it worse! How was I going to stop these guys before more innocent people took the fall? It's not like I could've guessed the bank robbery was White Rose, and even then, how am I supposed to anticipate planned hits like that without notice beforehand? Hell, not even the police knew it was going to happen. I didn't stand a chance.

"What does he plan to do?" I asked, ducking my head as the bell rang and a torrent of students rushed by. Our voices were almost drowned out by the noise and chatter inside the halls. "Did he catch the hitmen?"

"No, they got away," Gwen shook her head, pulling in closer. She glanced at the passerby, suspicious of eavesdroppers. "But he's hoping Falcon might lay low for a while, let the White Rose simmer. He thinks if she acts out again, they might do something even worse. Anything she does next might provoke another attack."

I felt my hands clench and unclench at my sides. I was no use as Falcon if I couldn't stop crime. And lay low? How does a superhero lay low if half the crimes she stops is White Rose? Even if I got Spider-Man in on it, that might just make him a target as well. Still, I didn't have a lot of options, and sticking my head in the dirt like a coward wasn't one of them.

"Kind of hard to protect the city that way," I muttered.

Gwen eyed me, frowning. She began to pull me away towards class. "Maybe, if she's like Spider-Man, but we don't know that yet. She just showed up three days ago. She could anybody. She could be _working for_ anybody. Hell, maybe the White Rose hired her out as an excuse to kill people again."

It was a good thing it was my best friend who was saying that to me, because if it were anyone else, I might've lost it and punched them in the face.

Not that I don't have any self control issues or anything like that. I mean…of course not. I'm – I'm a professional. I think.

"Is something wrong?" Gwen asked, apparently noticing me struggling to not vent my frustrations into the nearest wall of lockers. "You look a little tense."

A _little_? Gee, how did I not make it more obvious? I was practically shaking in anger. The very idea that the White Rose would've hired me to help them kill people made me…well, want to kill people. "It's nothing. I'm just worried about the test grade I got in American History."

"Well, lucky for you, you have all study hall to think it over." Gwen whispered as we walked into the quiet room. The teacher, a substitute by the name of Mrs. Murphy, watched us with beady eyes, apparently sensing trouble brewing from two honor roll kids. "Or maybe not."

No one in Midtown liked Mrs. Murphy because she made them work. Not just class work, which was required by every sub to enforce, but anything she happened to find on her way to class. She'd collect newspapers and make us do the crosswords _in pen_, and if we got a single letter wrong, she'd make us do them again. Thankfully, Mrs. Murphy was born and raised around the age when people watched black and white TV and hunted dinosaurs, so she had yet to learn of Google and smartphones and the genius idea of them working together in subtle harmony.

Ever since Wi-Fi, Mrs. Murphy was a thing of the past. At least until she found the detention slips, then the student body would have to rethink its strategy.

Even as we sat down in our seats, Mrs. Murphy didn't take her eyes off of us. I couldn't understand why she had decided to make us her chew toys for the day. I wondered if I had done something in our last encounter to tick her off. There were plenty of subs around here who carried a grudge.

I hoped that if I worked (or pretended, after I was done), that she'd go on and ignored us, but nope. There she was, glaring the whole time. Seriously, I was getting seriously creeped out by the half-hour mark, and I was considering sharing my insights when Mrs. Murphy finally called out my name. "Ms. Fletcher, please come forward."

Gwen glanced at me, not daring to look up from her book. Out of the corner of her mouth, she hissed, "What did you do?"

I shrugged helplessly, although I could've said I wasn't surprised. Well, maybe a little. These kind of things had stopped happening when I picked up my grades. I was even some teachers' favorites now. Maybe Mrs. Murphy just chose to hate me. It happens sometimes.

"Yeah?" I asked, standing in front of the teacher's desk. The guy who usually sat here was pretty messy, but since he was gone, it was uncomfortably bare. I didn't like having nothing to concentrate on. I've become strangely ADD ever since the radar thing – too much distracts me if I'm not working on something. Like that mustache on Mrs. Murphy's upper lip. I could see every individual hair. _Dude_.

"Miss Fletcher…" Mrs. Murphy paused to look at the attendance sheet. "May I call you Amelia?"

"No." I said, perhaps a little more rudely than I meant to.

"Well, _Miss Fletcher_," Mrs. Murphy pursed her lips, not liking my tone. She laced her wrinkly hands across the desk, right after adjusting an ugly pink flower brooch on her cardigan. "I'm sure you understand why you're up here, correct?"

"Uh," I looked over at the other students in the room. Some were watching the scene with mild interest (Gwen a little more so), while the rest continued to work. Seriously, how did she pick me out from idiot Flash Thompson over there? It was pretty obvious he was playing games on his laptop and not actually writing a report – he was watching the screen _way_ too intently. "No, not really."

Mrs. Murphy's pursed lips did not go away. "Well, I wanted to speak to you about one of your friends."

I looked back at her, an itchy feeling going up and down my spine. Oh, please don't be about Harry. Please, please, please, please. "Uh, who?"

It's Harry, isn't it?

"Peter, I believe." She said, her hands straying to a stack of papers she didn't own and straightening them out. Mrs. Murphy seemed to be making a point in not looking me in the eyes. Still, she had lowered her voice and I began to wonder if this was turning into a private conversation.

"Oh," I said, hoping I sounded surprised, because I wasn't. Peter? Really? What had the goody-two-shoes done now that deserved my attention? "Really? What's the problem?"

"You're well aware of the school's policy on attendance, am I correct?" she didn't even wait for me to answer. Even if I didn't know, it wouldn't take a genius to figure out what they were. _Go to class, fake interest, pass with decent grade._ "Skipping class is punishable, and a top student like him cannot afford to take any more blows to his record before he gets a detention. He's had a perfectly clean sheet so far."

Wow, Peter might have his first detention ever? I almost laughed, but didn't because I might get another evil look from Mrs. Murphy. "Well, what's this got to do with me? Or you, for that matter?"

"I'm evaluate students and teachers in the workplace, Miss Fletcher," Mrs. Murphy peered at me over her ugly cat-eye glasses. Seriously, how old are those? "Not just supervise a class. Peter's attendance is of great concern to me. He didn't have problems like this last year. I'd hate to discover he's fallen in with the wrong crowd."

I honestly thought Peter falling in with the wrong crowd might do him some good. Earn him some street cred, you know? And really, Mrs. Murphy shouldn't be so concerned – the idea of Peter getting hooked on drugs or going postal one day was as likely as Mrs. Murphy ever waxing her mustache (that was _really_ starting to bother me, by the way. God, _stop looking at it_!).

"I wouldn't be so worried," I said, perhaps way too cheerfully. "Peter's not that kind of guy. If anything, you should be worried about –"

I almost said Harry's name, until I saw Gwen out of the corner of my eye, shaking her head and slicing her hand across her throat in the _stop-talking-now _motion. She looked panicked and I had barely enough time to recover and think of someone else.

"Who, Miss Fletcher?" Mrs. Murphy prompted, raising an eyebrow.

"Uh…" my mind blanked, then I said the first name that occurred to me. "Flash Thompson."

"What?" came his voice from the back of the class, his head popping up from behind the computer screen.

Mrs. Murphy directed her evil squinty eyes at him and snapped, "No talking!"

Flash quailed and ducked behind his laptop again.

She turned back to me and I looked back at her, a nervous smile plastered to my face. My hands had gone cold and at the edge of my radar I could feel a window start to rattle. _No, stop that!_ _You'll freak everyone out!_ I struggled to get my powers under control and get back to reality before I said something really stupid in front of this woman.

"Well," Mrs. Murphy said curtly, folding her hands in her lap and leaning back from the desk. "I'm glad for your concern. If you could remind Peter to attend his classes more frequently, I would appreciate it."

I had to hold back from asking if I looked like his secretary to her, and just nodded politely and headed back to my seat. Why was it that even when I got to be a good student, teacher's were always more interested in Peter? Like, really, was that all I was good for, a human notepad so they can leave reminders for him? If Peter wants to ditch class, that's his decision. And if she wants to tell him to watch out, well, she should do it herself.

I really needed to make a name for myself, and not just be known as Peter's slightly dumber cousin. Not cool, yo.

Gwen seemed to notice I was in a bad mood and left me alone to my thoughts. For the rest of the class I stewed in my seat, arms crossed, wishing that there was a way to make a bold statement that wasn't illegal. Too bad I couldn't associate myself with Falcon, what with a whole secret identity thing that superheroes had to keep. It worked for them, and I didn't plan on being any different.

I was getting impatient. Already tired with school, I just wanted to leave. My brain was muggy and my radar was giving me a headache. A nap would be wonderful, in a nice soft bed. As tempting as the desktop in front of me was, I knew I'd only earn myself a neck crick that wouldn't go away until the next morning.

Finally, the bell rang and I almost went for the window when I remembered that I should be going out the door. Shaking my head and clearing my thoughts, I gathered my books and bag and joined Gwen in the hall, having already made it out the door.

"What did Mrs. Murphy say?" Gwen asked now that we weren't under a tyrannical rule of an evil substitute teacher. "You looked a little…upset."

I didn't want to tell her about being a notepad for teachers to contact Peter with, since it sounded kind of petty (and better in my head), so I just shrugged and said, "Nothing important. Gwen, did you know she evaluates students and teachers in the workplace?"

"You _didn't_?" Gwen asked, her eyebrows shooting up. Apparently I was out of the loop on this one. "Amy, why do you think people _listen_ to her?"

"I thought it was just a quiet study hall."

Gwen just shook her head, smiling to herself. "Sometimes, Amy, I don't think you really notice anything at all. It's like you're out of touch with reality half the time."

I decided not to point out the paradox of that statement and my radar. Even to myself. If coincidences like this were going to keep happening, I might as well get used to it. Besides, it kept my identity in check. No one is going to think freaky, spacey Amy is a superhero on her off hours. Worked for me.

On the way to my next class, I was intercepted by Mr. Davis going the other way. "Oh, Amy, I have to speak to you!"

I stopped in my tracks, glancing at Gwen in trepidation. Oh, no, what was he going to say? That my test score was wrong? Did I finally miss a question? Or maybe he realized I cheated (just a little) on the last one? If he did, how could he have seen the physics equation I had written on the inside of my wrist? It had been covered by my watch almost the entire time, except when I had to use it. Oh, wait. Did someone rat me out? It better not be one of those football players…hypocrites…

I was already stewing in anger about a punishment I hadn't even gotten yet, when Mr. Davis approached and smiled. "Amy, you've been accepted."

Obviously, that was not the news I was expecting. I just stared at him blankly, while Gwen started jumping up and down beside me. I jumped when she swallowed me in a hug. "Oh, congratulations, Amy!"

The only thing I could think of was that it was a year too early for me to be accepted into a college. I mean, I'm smart, but not _that_ smart. "Uh, accepted into what?"

Kids flowed around us, muttering comments and insults to the three people creating a roadblock in the middle of the hallway. Mr. Davis didn't seem to be aware of them at all. He just handed me a letter and continued to grin. "Open it."

"Uh, ok." Like I needed the order. I slipped my finger under the flap and detached it from the glue. Inside was a single sheet of paper. Unfolding that, I was met with a typed greeting:

_Dear Miss Amelia Fletcher,_

_I am pleased to inform you that you are one of two students who have been accepted into this year's internship program at InTec Headquarters. This is an incredibly difficult task and we are glad you have not only achieved it, but accept you onto our team. _

_InTec is a company that seeks to achieve a new level of technology that not only enhances the quality of life here on Earth, but improves it as well. We have built robotic irrigation systems to help families in Africa, interactive heart monitors for patients in hospitals, and built artificial organs for patients in need of transplants. We seek to save lives and make them better, as well as improve technologies and make them more efficient and safe for the environment. As a member of our team of scientists, you will take part in projects much like these, aiding the effort to make the world a better place to live. _

_We specialize in robotics and computer technology, but that does not limit us in any way. We hope that, with your addition, that we can create ingenious and intelligent designs that will aid humans in their quest for a better life._

_Sincerely,  
Dr. Oriole Kane PhD_

"Whoa." I said aloud.

I couldn't look away from the letter, totally engrossed. I read and reread the letter, as if hoping that something might happen. Nothing changed, but I got more excited each time I read it, as if that made me more convinced that this was real.

"See you after school, at the gate. Three o'clock, don't be late," Mr. Davis said, before disappearing into the crowd. I looked back at the letter. I had been grinning for a whole two minutes and I couldn't even feel my muscles straining.

"I don't even remember admitting for this," I said about ten minutes later, when my overwhelming joy turned into confusion. "When did I sign up for internships?"

"A couple weeks ago," Gwen said, as if me forgetting something as important as an internship with _InTec_ was completely normal. Then again, all those papers – late homework, extra credit homework, signing health forms and insurance stuff – maybe it just fell into the mix. "You did one for OSCORP, too."

"Was I not good enough for that one?"

"No. Its lab burned down," she replied, and when I gave a questioning look, Gwen just rolled her eyes and said, "Coney Island, Doctor Octopus, mad rampage across New York City? OSCORP is going to be out of commission for a while. Man, I'm glad I got you to do both forms. If InTec didn't work out, you'd have no work credit at all."

"Yeah? What about that volunteer work in the fifth grade, when we went to Central Park?"

"Amy, two hours picking up trash isn't going to get you into any college. Unless you want to be a garbage lady. Just say, _thank you, Gwen, for helping me fill out my college transcript and getting me a job. I'd be lost without you_." She smirked at me.

"You said it, not me," I raised my hands and backed off. We came to the end of the hallway, where it split off in two different directions. My class was one way, hers the other. "See you at lunch."

"Yeah, sure," Gwen was still smirking as she turned her back to me. Just because she was right didn't mean I was going to let her be smug about it. Well, I _was_, but I was never going to admit it.

The day was just as slow and dreadful as any other, if only because I was still completely psyched by the letter and way too impatient to for 3 o'clock to get here. Time didn't seem to want to move for me. The only consolation I had was no homework and a distraction while I did it in class. When the final bell rang, I couldn't get out of the school fast enough.

I was, however, surprised to find that the only other person waiting at the gate outside of school was Astor Sloane. At first I thought she might be waiting for someone, probably Tracy, but when Tracy passed right on by with a bunch of her other friends and climbed onto a bus, I started to get suspicious. And then afraid.

I stopped by the gate, wishing that there might be some reasonable explanation for this. Astor wasn't here to beat me up. Or maybe she was. Maybe she decided that even with my cast on (hell to do in the morning, by the way) that I was still her favorite chew toy.

"Hey," she said, giving me a curt nod before turning back to look at the street. She leaned against the gate, arms crossed in traditional rebel-without-a-cause style. She was dressed unusually plain today, just jeans and a t-shirt, even though it was getting chilly. I myself couldn't complain, because I wasn't wearing much more than a sweater, either.

I stood there awkwardly, trying to figure this out. Why was she here, if she wasn't going to beat me up? All of her friends were on the bus, and the bus was leaving. So what…

Then it hit me.

"You're the other intern." I said, jaw dropping.

"Yep."

"B-but –"

Astor glanced at me, a grim smile on her lips. "What, didn't think I'd do it?"

"No." I replied. "I didn't think they'd accept you."

"Yeah, no idea about that." She shrugged, unconcerned about the whole impossibility of it all. I mean, _her_, of all people? "Strange how it turned out, right? There must've been a lot dumber kids trying to get in. I knew you'd get it, though, what with you now being an 'A' student or whatever. And you can close that mouth now, I get enough looks like that on the field."

I clamped my jaw shut, scowling. When Gwen was smug, it was kind of funny. When Astor was smug, I wanted to punch her. And now that I _could_, I was afraid I'd lose that inhibition that kept me normal under public gaze. "Why did you apply?"

"Field hockey season is over," Astor shrugged again, going back to watching the street. Apparently I wasn't very interesting to look at. "And my advisor said that if I didn't get any other extracurricular activities on my transcript, I'll never get into Vassar."

What? "Since when have you ever wanted to get into Vassar? I thought you wanted to get on the national field hockey team."

"Of course I do!" she snapped at me, looking back at me to give me an evil eye not too different from the kind Mrs. Murphy had. Her ponytail swished angrily in the wind. "You think they're going to let an idiot be their team captain? Come on, Fletcher, think! You're supposed to be good at that!"

I stopped frowning and looked away, crossing my arms and standing back. I hated it when Astor was right. So much for me changing and proving her wrong. I needed to change the subject. "What, I'm not Freak anymore?"

Astor snorted. "You not over that yet? If you miss the old life, I'll be happy to oblige."

I eyed her warily. "No thanks."

"Good. So shut up."

I made a face at Astor, but only when she looked away. I get superpowers, and Astor Sloane _still_ tells me what to do. How is that fair?

At long last, a black car pulled up on the street. It was a van, its windows tinted. It didn't really look interesting for something from InTec, but I could sense someone else was waiting inside. A guy in a black suit and tie stepped out of the driver's seat and opened the back door for us. I exchanged looks with Astor before heading towards the car. She stepped in first, of course. I didn't mind. If anything bad happened, she'd get it before I did.

The two back rows of seats faced each other, like in a limo, only not as much leather. Inside sat a familiar woman with long black hair and eye glasses, wearing a fancy pantsuit. She smiled as we entered, her hands clasping in her laps. "Hello, girls."

"Hi," we said in unison, then glared at each other.

Dr. Oriole Kane paused, as if sensing the disparity between us. A frown flickered across her face. But it was gone in a moment and her smile returned. "As you might already know, I'm Dr. Oriole Kane. You've been accepted as interns to InTec, in case there's any confusion on the matter. As spokesperson to my company, I welcome you to InTec."

She offered her hand and we shook it in turn. Her hand was cold and soft in my hand. When I drew back, Dr. Kane noticed the cuts on my knuckles and raised her eyebrows. "How did you get those?"

I glanced down at my hand, flexing my fingers. For all the protection those gloves gave me, it still hurt when I punched a goon in the face. "Oh, I cut myself falling on the pavement. It was a lot worse before."

"Oh." I saw the interest fade from her eyes and relaxed. Woo, close one. Dr. Kane turned and tapped against the driver's seat. The engine started and the van began to move. She turned back to us, her smile still in place. "Well, while I'm still not busy, do you have any questions before we reach the lab?"

"What was it like?" Astor demanded, leaning forward.

"What was what like? The lab?"

"No. Being rescued by Falcon, at that Expo."

Dr. Oriole Kane seemed a little disappointed that Astor's immediate topic had nothing to do with science or InTec. She sighed and recited, "It was…exciting, I suppose. But it's been all over the news, I'm sure you can find it in some newspaper. Now, about the lab –"

"Why did that assassin want to kill you?" Astor asked, and even I was a little stunned by her audacity. I elbowed her, and threw a significant look when Astor made to snap at me.

Dr. Oriole Kane didn't really appreciate the question. She frowned. "As far as the police are concerned, it was an act of insanity. Simply the will of a crazy man."

I was about to say something smart-ass to Astor when I realized that nothing Kane said coincided with anything I knew. Mouth already open to speak, I hesitated and stared at her, trying to think why she thought this. Or, more accurately, why the _police_ told her this. Did they want to keep her in the dark? Did they think it would keep her safe? And after the White Rose massacre, how did she not have a single clue?

"What?" she said, meeting my stare, her gaze hardening. I swallowed and leaned back, trying to recollect myself and shook my head. This was all so weird. Keeping up secret identities was a lot harder when you knew stuff you shouldn't.

"N-nothing," I muttered. I tried to think of something that might change the direction of the conversation. "Uh…have we introduced ourselves?"  
Dr. Kane didn't even get a chance to ask before Astor blurted, "I'm Astor! Sloane! Astor Sloane. I mean – yeah, that's me."

I had to bite my tongue to keep myself from laughing. I'd never seen Astor this giddy before, or so clumsy with her words. Maybe she was just psyched to meet someone famous, or make sure they knew her name. "I'm, um, Amelia Fletcher. But everyone calls me Amy."

"All right, Amy," Dr. Kane got back to smiling again. She nodded to me, then to her. "And Astor. You two must be good friends, the way you seem to know each other so well."

Astor snorted, as if to say: _me, friends with HER?_ _Give me a break!_ I threw her a dirty look before saying, "No, we're just in the same grade."

"You're not friends?" Dr. Kane asked, looking from me to Astor, then back again. Her eyebrows shot up, as if this surprised her. Honestly, I thought it was pretty obvious. But I guess there aren't enough death glares in the world to display all the hatred between us. "How come?"

For once, Astor didn't have an immediate reply. I didn't, either, but since Astor wasn't going to admit she tormented me for most of my life, I had to supply _something_. "We don't really share the same circles of friends. Or interests."

Or anything, really.

Well, except for internships, now. Why did this have to be so difficult?

"Hmm," Dr. Kane made a face, adjusting her watch and checking the time. "Well, I hope you two can learn to work together, because there's going to be a lot of teamwork involved here at InTec. You'll also make plenty of new friends here, people who love what they do and work hard to achieve results. I hope you two both share these qualities, because it may become very difficult for two untrained teenagers in the type of work environment the lab has."

"Untrained?" Astor smirked. "I'm captain of Midtown's field hockey team. It's the best thing in the world, and I'd do whatever it takes to be better at it."

I could feel my jaw clenching. Dr. Kane may not realize it, but she was just giving Astor a chance to stroke her ego. Well, I wasn't going to let her hog the limelight. "_And_ I know what it means to work hard to get what I want. I'm going to be valedictorian next year."

Whoa. Did I really just say that out loud?

Never, ever since I became an honors student have I planned on getting to valedictorian, not once. But what could I say that could top Astor being the star female athlete at Midtown High? And Vassar? Come on.

"Really now?" Oriole Kane said, turning her gaze to me, looking mildly impressed. I could sense Astor tensing beside me, realizing the game we were playing. I almost regretted trying to one-up her. _No_ _one_ one-ups Astor Sloane and gets away with it. "I've heard valedictorians at Midtown get a full scholarship to MIT. Is that what you're aiming for?"

Well, geez, now that I got myself in this mess, I couldn't just back out of it. "Uh, yeah. That's _definitely_ what I want."

I had no idea where I wanted to go to college. MIT sounded pretty cool, though. Gwen was going to throw a fit when I tell her all about this. I began to fear she would try to make it happen for real. I'm sorry, but I'm not ready for AP Statistics.

I sensed the car beginning to slow down, our driver applying the brakes more frequently than before. I looked out the window, to the huge skyscrapers and hundreds of pedestrians. I counted at least five different tour groups on a single block.

The car came to a stop in front of APEX tower. Astor gazed up at it, awed. I realized that I wasn't acting as impressed as I should be upon arriving to a beautiful tower I've supposedly never been to before. I quickly fixed my mistake, but it didn't look as cool now in broad daylight than it did at night during an expo.

Near the top was some scaffolding, workmen cleaning windows and replacing the one I smashed through on Friday. It didn't look incredibly safe, but neither was dressing up as a superhero and fighting armed hitmen, so what did I know?

"Imagine," Astor said, turning to me with a surprisingly sincere grin. "Being here and seeing Falcon's first appearance. It must have been incredible."

"Uh, yeah, sure," I agreed, eyeing her suspiciously. Since when did Astor have this weird fascination with Falcon? She wasn't really someone who followed popular trends religiously. Yet a hype finally seemed to have got to her. I mean, Falcon was still on national news, but it wasn't the biggest story anymore. I thought people had moved on.

Clearly I have a poor understanding of how the news works.

"Oh, it's a nice day out, isn't it?" Dr. Kane said, stepping out of the car, her steps prim and delicate. Did most scientists wear stilettos? "Come with me, girls, the view is much better at the lab."

She led the way inside. A set of three revolving doors were constantly moving, people streaming in and out. The lobby inside was huge, almost as big as the ballroom. I felt as though I was walking into a super shiny mall – lots of glass and steel, marble floors, transparent elevators and escalators. Catwalks suspended over our heads. My radar was going to nuts trying to take it all in.

Directly in front of us was a giant horse-shoe shaped desk, manned by a single, pretty secretary. The woman, brunette in a sleek bun and modern glasses, smiled as we approached. The tag on her lapel read: _Jennifer_. "Good afternoon, Dr. Kane."

"Hi, Jen, just showing the new interns around," Dr. Kane waved hello, then motioned to us. "Do you have the new keycards?"

"Oh, yes!" Jennifer the Secretary scrambled around her desk, which was kept incredibly clean. There was only a computer, a cup of pens, and a lamp on the tabletop. The keycards were nowhere to be seen. I could sense them in one of the drawers, but Jennifer didn't think to look there. "Well, Susie said she brought them in earlier, but I have no idea where she might've put them…"

"Check the top left drawer," I said before I could stop myself. I guess I was getting a little impatient and earned three weird looks for that one. I blushed and said, "Uh…just a thought."

Jennifer frowned but checked them anyways. "Ah, here they are! Lucky guess, I suppose."

Well, there were only three to choose from. She would have found them eventually. I just smiled and took the card with my name and magnetic strip on them. I expected it to have a picture of my face on it, like most security cards should, but instead it had the InTec logo emblazoned across it: a series of concentric circles of grays and reds, and a silhouette of a hand in the center. I smiled to myself as I hung it around my neck. Inside jokes are funny, if only I could share them with someone.

"Keep those on at all times while you're here, girls," Dr. Kane ordered, walking away from the front desk and into a nearby elevator. We followed her inside. I could feel the cables turning beneath my feet. "They'll keep you out of trouble and get you into where you need to be. APEX tower is home to InTec, but several other companies as well. OSCORP, for example, runs on a couple floors, using our advanced generators to power their super-computers. Did you know that APEX tower is completely self-sufficient? We named it such because it's the pinnacle of science's greatest achievements, particularly in computers and robotics."

I found it strange how well this company seemed to be doing, even though it was apparently on the brink of collapse barely a week ago. "You guys seem to be doing pretty good for a company that was barely surviving last Friday?"

A small smile played on Dr. Kane's lips. "And why do you think that is? Ever since Falcon appeared, our stocks have skyrocketed, and business is booming. We haven't been this prominent in over a decade. Falcon may be just a crime fighter, but she effects the economy just as hard. I guess that's another thing I have to thank her for."

"You mean besides saving your life?" Astor asked, as if Dr. Kane might've somehow forgotten.

It looked like she was trying to hold back from rolling her eyes. She sighed, nodding. "_Yes_, Astor, that's what I meant."

"So cool," Astor grinned, jumping up and down a little as she watched what looked like some sort of mini helicopter drone hover by, carrying a crate five times its size. We watched it zoom past the elevator, ducking into a door that opened automatically for it. "Why isn't that public yet?"

"You'd be surprised how expensive they are." Dr. Kane said, tucking her hands behind her back. She didn't even look at the helicopter drone when it passed, like it was as interesting as a pigeon. "And few buyers. They only work at short-range, but we hope to extend it so they can be used by shipping companies. Saves on gas and decreases toxic emissions."

"Oh." Astor looked disappointed. "I could've gotten one to clean up my room."

Dr. Kane chuckled. "I'm sure that'll be available for every teen one day. Have you two been thinking about Halloween yet? It's the day after tomorrow, you know."

_Pfft_, like she had to remind a pair of teenagers this fact. Astor smiled. "Yeah. Don't know who I'm going to be yet, but I heard there's a festival on Bleakers street where everyone's going to be. Sounds like fun."

Again, none of this sounded like a threat. I was surprised Astor didn't try to rub her popularity in my face. It kind of sounded like she was giving _me_ the option of going. Then again, she might be pulling my leg. "Really? I haven't heard of it."

"Well, maybe if you got your head out of the clouds, you would," yep, there's the Astor I know. She threw me a small smirk. "The cheer squad are running a booster over there, selling cookies and stuff. I'd go just to see the football players dressed up as cheerleaders. Apparently Flash Thompson lost a bet against Puny Pete."

"What? _How?_" I blurted, completely taken aback. It wasn't like Peter had a lot in advantage over Flash, and even the football player wasn't dumb enough to bet on grades. It must've been…

"Pete had gotten a date for the fall formal. Apparently that's something guys bet on."

_Of course_. Boys will be boys.

Dr. Kane was snickering, oddly immature for someone so professional. I felt awkward sharing this conversation in the same vicinity as her, but it was too late now. Besides, Dr. Kane didn't seem offended or anything. "The competitive nature of boys and men never ceases to amuse me."

"Do you have a boyfriend?" Astor asked, turning to look at Dr. Kane, not feeling as embarrassed as I was. I definitely wouldn't have asked _that_ question. Isn't that something you're not supposed to discuss with your boss, unless they bring it up first? I'm pretty sure there are some workplace rules about this kind of stuff.

"Oh, no," Dr. Kane shook her head, apparently not thinking the rules were a big deal. I frowned but kept this discrepancy to myself. "I'm far too busy to maintain personal relationships like that. I find all that drama…too distracting, you know?"

I watched as the lobby disappeared beneath us. We were now shooting pass the twentieth floor and still going strong. I wondered how high up we were going to be.

"Oh, yeah!" Astor nodded her head enthusiastically, although I've seen her with plenty of boyfriends before. Strange how she failed to mention hers, right? "They always ruin my training sessions. I almost lost a game because of one."

"Really?" I said, unable to hold back my tongue. I didn't really appreciate Astor trying to kiss up to Dr. Kane, especially with the excessive lying. "I thought that was because you choked in the final seconds of the play-off."

The elevator dinged, reaching the fifty-seventh floor. The doors opened to let us off. The hallway outside was bright white, almost like a hospital. There were signs in front of us, one pointing left saying: 5701-5710, and the other pointing right with: 5711-5720. As soon as Dr. Kane was ahead of us, Astor kicked me in the shin and demanded in a hiss, "What are you trying to do, ruin me?"

The kick didn't hurt as much as it should, but I could still feel the bruise forming anyway. "Ow! Because you're lying, like, big time! You still _have_ a boyfriend!"

"No, duh," Astor rolled her eyes. "But she doesn't have to know that, okay? Look, I need to prove myself to her. You think I stand a chance against an honors kid like you? Think, Fletcher! I'll look like an idiot next to you if I don't do something."

I scowled but didn't say anything right away. Astor kind of had a point. Still, I wasn't happy about it. "Oh, fine. But maybe some less lying? Next you'll be telling her you're a single kid raised by her mom, while her dad was a total no-show in her life."

"Whoa, Fletcher, you got some old grudges you'd like to share?" Astor raised her eyebrows, almost snorting. She covered her mouth with her hand to keep it from reaching Dr. Kane. "I didn't think you were that kind of person."

Neither did I. "That's not what I meant, I'm just saying –!"

"Yeah, sure, whatever you say," Astor interrupted, shaking her head and picking up her pace. She kept snickering all the way to the place where Dr. Kane had stopped, in front of two double doors. They were white like everything else here, but with big shiny letters on them: LAB 29. Dr. Kane smiled at us and pushed through the doors.

On the inside was a much larger room, perhaps as big as Midtown's gymnasium. The room was split in half by a thick glass wall, inside a giant column of plastic and steel. I had no idea what it was, although it kind of looked like a super-huge vertical particle accelerator. The side we were on was filled with much smaller machinery, mostly computers and cutting tools. White seemed to be a recurring theme here, as the only two occupants in the room were dressed in similar lab coats and protection gear. They both had goggles on, thick yellow kitchen gloves, and giant spaceman boots. They looked so goofy, they almost gave a bad name to mad scientists.

One of them, a woman with brown hair, turned to us and grinned. She waved a gloved hand and stopped what she was working on – some sort of heat experiment involving blue flames and a Mars rover the size of a cell phone. "Hey, Dr. Kane! Are these the new interns you promised us?"

"Yes, they are," Dr. Kane ushered us inside. I was a little reluctant, what with bad memories with hospitals and all, but managed to smile nonetheless. "This is Astor Sloane and Amelia Fletcher, from Midtown High. They're very excited to be here today."

The other scientist looked up from his work – welding two pieces of complicated metal together – and grinned. He turned off the cutting welder and lifted his goggles. "Ha, I was beginning to wonder when you guys would show up. Grace thought we'd have to do all this work by ourselves."

"Shut up, Danny," the woman snapped, looking a little red. She turned back to Dr. Kane with a nervous grin. "He's just joking. We were, uh, just getting started with our big project. I'm Dr. Martin, and that's my brother, the other Dr. Martin. Most people just call us Grace and Daniel, though. Less confusing."

I frowned, looking between the two of them. I didn't catch it at first, but now that Dr. Martin – er, Grace – mentioned it, I could definitely see a resemblance. Same hair color, nose shape, and jaw line. Only Grace had blue eyes and he had brown. "You guys decided to become scientists together?"

"Well, it was my idea first," Grace said, straightening a little. She cast a smug grin to her brother. "He copied me."

Daniel Martin threw her a sour look. "You're a bio-engineer, I'm in bio-medical. _Huge_ difference."

"Keep telling yourself that." Dr. Grace said, pulling off her gloves and placing them on the table. She approached us and shook our hands. "It's really great to meet you both. I'll give you a tour of the place. Keep you from bothering Dan – he gets distracted a lot."

"I _do not_!" Daniel protested, but didn't add more to that. He seemed cowed with the presence of his boss and apparently wasn't going to escalate the fight in front of her. He pulled his mask back on and went back to welding.

"Well, you have interns to teach and I have papers to sign." Dr. Kane sighed, backing off into the hallway. She waved one last time. "Have fun, girls."

I watched as she left, and on my radar when she was out of sight. I didn't know why, perhaps I was feeling a little suspicious. Not that I thought Dr. Kane was creepy. She was pretty chill by my book. But still, I had to be careful. After all, someone wanted her dead.

I mean, it happens all the time on TV. Sometimes the victim (dead or not) isn't as innocent as they first seem.

Doctors Grace and Daniel showed us around. The giant column behind the glass? A auto-intelligence neurotransmitter – something that I've never heard of before. But Dr. Grace explained it as the next step in robotic intelligence. The human brain and the logistics of right and wrong (summed up as 'morality') is too complicated for any computer chip to handle, and must be imbued into the entirety of the robot's body – not just a program or utility that it can turn on and off, or possibly even destroyed, which apparently is what happened to Doctor Octopus, if what the _Bugle_ says is correct.

Dr. Grace didn't demonstrate how it worked, but she did go on to explain her hope of using this technology on military drones, to prevent them from going rogue. I didn't even know they _could_ go rogue, and for the rest of that week I was unduly paranoid.

Besides that, the lab was relatively normal. They didn't have a lot of live specimens besides the generic rats and goldfish, which were fixed with a variety of prosthetics in replacement of missing limbs and fins. I hoped none of the brains had been replaced yet, because a robot-zombie-rat epidemic was not something I was looking forward to.

After about the fifth time speculating the eventuality of Skynet, I realized I needed to get back to reality and actually _focus_. I couldn't get caught up in my own ideas and daydreams and miss something important. Like what did that computer do again? Now I was too afraid to ask without looking utterly stupid. I'll have to do it later, given enough time where it seemed reasonable I would've forgotten.

Ugh, focus!

There were _a lot_ of machines to go through, and by the time we were done, the sky outside had gotten dark. Dr. Grace had blown right over the great view we had up here – full length windows overlooking Manhattan, and quite a nice one, too. The only thing Dr. Grace said was get a good look now, because most of the time it will be covered by shades. Something about direct sunlight corrupting their experiments.

We couldn't stay any longer (it was a school night, Dr. Daniel insisted), and were ushered out the building. It was only afterwards I wished I had taken notes, because now I couldn't remember half the stuff she told me. Man, if I kept this up, I'd _never_ make a good scientist.

Astor already had a ride waiting for her. Apparently her parents were wealthy (and patient) enough to own a car in the city, so she was gone the second we were out the door. Astor even gave me a curt wave goodbye, which she has _never_ done before.

I stood there, mouth open like an idiot, while her mom drove away, trying to think how Astor went from bullying me to being kind of tolerable – the one sort-of-but-not-really friend you don't really know how you got, because you have almost nothing in common at all.

This stunning act was not the last for me, however. All day I had been thinking how I'd get home from here, by cab or by wings (superheroism had its advantages), when a voice to my right called out, "Hey, Amy!"

I turned, still a little stunned from Astor's latest act of decency, when I saw none other than Eddie Brock on the side of the street, sitting on his motorcycle, waving at me.

Oh, no. What do I do?


	13. Chapter 13: Spontaneous Recovery

**Sorry i haven't updated in a while, I promise there will be more to this and my other stuff after my semester finals are over. Right now this was all I could do, and I really needed to write a short chapter to get over my writer's block and stress. So please, enjoy!  
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**Reviews are appreciated.  
**

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**Chapter Thirteen**

**Spontaneous Recovery**

I got weak at the knees. It was like I just met him for the first time and I didn't know what to do with myself. Why was I like this? Eddie already knew enough about me that I didn't have to be so nervous around him.

Maybe it was because after a whole week not seeing or thinking about him, I realized that I spent a whole week not seeing or thinking about him.

Eddie seemed nonplussed though, as if he picked me up every day after work. I didn't even know how he found out I was an intern, or where I worked.

Then a worse thought came to mind. How long had he been waiting out here for me?

I approached him, carefully because I was afraid of my knees giving out at any moment. "Uh, h-hi, Eddie. How did – how did you know I was here?"

"Gwen told me."

_Of course_. I should've known.

I looked around, nervous. Come on, pull it together, Amy! You're acting like a weirdo again! "Uh, okay. Why are you here? Wait, don't you have work at ESU or something?"

"Ah," he just shrugged, like missing work wasn't too big a deal for him. "I asked Dr. Connors a favor and he said it was okay. Besides, it'd take you over two hours to get to Queens from here. Traffic is bad this time of day."

"Oh, right." This wasn't a problem I had considered until now, and even then it still wasn't exactly a problem. I had been planning on donning my superhero alter ego and head home on my wings, maybe take out a few baddies on the way. Rush hour wasn't exactly an issue for me anymore. Still, Eddie seemed surprise that I had forgotten something that would've been so clearly important to a girl who definitely shouldn't be a superhero. "I, um, forgot."

Wow. Nice save. NOT.

Eddie snorted. "No offense, but I think you'd forget your head if it wasn't attached to your body. Seriously though, you want a ride?"

I smiled awkwardly. Sacrificing my memory's integrity to protect my identity was worth it if I got to hitch a ride with Eddie Brock. Looking kind of like an scatter-brained ditz didn't seem so bad now. "Yeah, sure."

I reached into my bag and withdrew my helmet. I had reservations about taking it out in front of Eddie. Falcon's been in the media for a good bit now, would he recognize it as the one she wore? Would he put two and two together and figure out what I was really doing in my free time?

But Eddie looked little more than mildly impressed when I took out the helmet he gave me. "Wow, you're prepared. Are you psychic or something?

My first instinct was panic because I thought he was serious about that. But I realized he was joking fast enough to prevent what could've been a major freak out. Again, I simply smiled and said, "I keep it just in case this gets to a regular thing."

It was such a terrible lie and so exposing to the truth that I barely kept myself from blushing. Still, I could tell Eddie thought I was flirting and not trying to make up dumb excuses, so he grinned at me. "Really? No girl's ever told me that one before."

"Well," I said slowly, quick to put on my helmet before he could see my face blooming red. I was such a horrible flirt, I had nothing in the name of subtlety. "I wouldn't say I'm like most other girls."

"That we can both agree on." Eddie said, nodding and sliding on his own helmet. "Hop on."

I had forgotten how freaking terrifying Eddie was on a motorcycle. I mean, even after gaining a new perspective on life, what with the high flying and bag guy fighting - I've gotten pretty used to terrifying, death-defying things. But _this?_ Totally different! Eddie seemed to have some sort of death wish, going so fast in the streets. I clung onto him for dear life.

It was pointless to tell him to slow down. Eddie had a need for speed, a bona-fide thrill-seeker. We dodged between cars and trucks, burning red lights and cutting through traffic so efficiently he would've put my wings on a run for its money. A part me was grateful, however, because traffic was really starting to build up. I mean, even more than the usual rush hour. Long lines of cars waiting at stop lights.

It was so bad, in fact, that when we blew past a police car, he couldn't give chase because he was trapped on all sides by other cars.

I actually found myself grinning and laughing at their expense, until it occurred to me that this definitely wasn't normal. I thought that maybe it was some idiot driver's mistake, but the further we went and the longer it was to any site of a car accident, I started to that maybe that wasn't the problem.

It was until I glanced up at a passing set of traffic lights did I realize what was wrong, and at first I didn't even believe my eyes.

I whipped back in my seat, but only confirmed what I saw the first time.

The traffic lights were out. All of them.

At first I thought it might be just a power outage, some fault of the DOT, but I saw that lights in nearby stores had gone out as well. When Eddie finally got ahead of the traffic, the lights ahead of us started to blink out, turning the streets dark as we approached.

In the crossway ahead of us, two police cars with blaring sirens screamed right through a red light just before it went dark, too. Eddie had to skid to a stop before we collided with them in the middle of the road. Even as the smell of burnt rubber reached my nose, three other cars smashed in front of us, each trying to avoid each other and failing spectacularly.

We watched in stunned silence as the police disappeared around the right corner. Eddie asked, "What the hell was _that_ about?"

Not even two seconds later, lightning ripped through the streets, traveling across utility poles and traffic lights and tearing up the tarmac. The lightning turned night into day as people cowered in their vehicles. It rippled across the tops of cars, before stopping at a mailbox and exploding, sending paper into the air like fiery confetti. Glass cracked and the air filled with the smell of o-zone.

The electricity was gone in a moment, followed immediately by a ground-shaking round of thunder and incredible shock-wave. Glass windows shattered as it moved. I just barely managed to block most of the force with my mind, but it still knocked us, along with the motorcycle, over. At least I kept my helmet from cracking.

I hit the ground on my back, the air knocked out of my lungs. Gasping for breath, I managed to pull my leg out from beneath the motorcycle. Eddie was already on his knees, trying to help me up.

No one had gotten seriously injured from the shock-wave or lightning. The people in their cars were now on the street, inspecting the damage. Traffic had been pretty much put to a halt. Cars were stopped bumper to bumper. Calls were being made and photos were being taken.

The destruction wasn't over yet, though. Another blast shook the streets. It was too dark to see anything, what with the street lights having been blown out, but the giant plume of flame was easy enough to spot.

I was back on the motorbike in a second. I yelled at Eddie, "Go!" and he didn't even argue before gunning the engine. The front wheel left the ground as we shot forward and headed straight for the source of this catastrophe.

It didn't take too long to find it. Right ahead of us a battle royal was taking place. Rubble littered the ground, the faces of buildings missing entirely. Smoke rose from several buildings, fire spewing out of windows. A ring of police cruisers was centered around the center of this destruction, the remains of a building that might have once been a bank or office building. Between the arriving SWAT team and armed policemen firing into the mess, I could see a light moving amongst the ruins.

A SWAT team van pulled up in front of us and a squad of well-armed and protected men jumped out, swarming the area. One of them trotted over to us, not looking too pleased to see a couple of kids wandering into their business on a motorcycle. He had biceps the size of watermelons, bald, and wearing thick bullet-proof armor. In one arm he held a Plexiglas shield and the other a semi-automatic. He looked as though he could mow down the motorcycle all on his own.

"I need you two to clear out!" the SWAT officer ordered, pointing down the way we came. His voice boomed, easily heard over the bike's engine and the chaos behind him. In the flashing blue and red lights, I could see his name on his jacket: _GARRET_. "This area isn't safe for civilians!"

I was going to ask what was going on, but Eddie surprised me when he said, "Look, is there anything I can do to help?"

I was more surprised that he didn't involve _me_ in that question and for some reason not as much that Eddie was _willing_ to put his life on the line. What was this guy trying to do, looking for opportunities to kill himself?

"Eddie, no!" I protested. I didn't want to hang out too long with SWAT guy Garret when I could be helping out as Falcon. I needed to get the hell out of the public eye so I could change, but I didn't know how I could get far away enough from Eddie to do that. "This isn't safe, look!"

Behind Officer Garret, there came another blast of electricity, reaching upwards into the sky in the shape of a tree. Men shouted and ducked lower to the ground, panicking and yelling into their radios. Before Officer Garret could chuck the motorcycle across the street, the cars closest to the disaster zone were launched into the air like they were made of tinfoil.

"GET DOWN!" Garret yelled as the lightning arched over our heads, curving down and connecting with a nearby utility pole. The transformer blew up into a shower of sparks and the ground beneath our feet fractured.

The police cars landed, sending glass and metal everywhere. The resulting quake knocked everyone off their feet. Pandemonium reigned.

Usually, not a lot of people consider being thrown airborne by fire a wonderful opportunity apparently given to them from some sort of deity, but thankfully not a lot of people live secret lives as superheroes, either.

I was thrown perhaps ten feet, far enough away from Eddie to make a run for it. I landed in a roll and made for the nearest alley, ripping off my jacket as I went.

It's show time.

OoOoO

Eddie had barely recovered from being thrown from his motorcycle before Falcon had flown to the scene.

She landed in the midst of the rubble, in the center of the chaos, near the source of the lightning and tremors. Falcon had been anticipating one of Spider-Man's enemies, since they had an annoying tendency to pop up at the most inconvenient times. But instead of seeing Electro or Shocker, she instead saw a flannel-garbed man in rugged jeans and work boots. The only thing truly bizarre about the man was, attached to his shoulder, a Terminator arm going berserk

Falcon almost reconsidered engaging in battle with what could possibly be a T-800 (something she had been convincing herself wasn't real less than an hour ago), but the terrified look on his face told her this was a lot worse than she first thought.

"Get away!" he shouted at her, waving his human arm away. Falcon scrambled back, tripping over gravel as his robot arm started sucking energy from an overturned SWAT truck. "I can't control it! Get out of here!"

"Whoa!" Falcon ducked as a lightning bolt veered off its course and almost took her head off. "Look, I'm trying to help you! Is there any way to turn that thing off?"

It was hard to see his face with the flashing lights and dark street, but Falcon could see that if there had been a way to turn it off, the man would've done it a long time ago.

He didn't even get to answer before a bolt struck Falcon. She didn't even see it before it hit her extended wing.

Falcon was vaguely aware of a numbness. Her vision went white and she felt strangely peaceful, as if she were drifting on a cloud. It seemed as though she had fallen asleep while standing up, but in the back of her mind, Falcon knew this wasn't the case. The whiteness lasted perhaps a few seconds before she returned to reality.

She would have rather stuck with the dream.

The pain in her arm nearly knocked Falcon unconscious again. It was so intense that her radar no longer worked. Somehow Falcon was still standing, but she felt paralyzed. Oh god, she couldn't _see_. She couldn't move. It was dark out and the robot-arm man was gone.

_He's gone_.

Falcon regained bodily function immediately. Whipping around, she thought it was unusual how dark the place was, how quiet things were.

Then she realized something was very wrong.

Falcon was blind and deaf, without even her radar to back her up.


	14. Chapter 14: Dark Adaptation

**Finally, another chapter. I'm writing more this weekend. I'm hoping to finish at least one more story by the end of January, if not December.  
**

**Anyways, enjoy! Reviews are appreciated.  
**

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**Chapter Fourteen**

**Dark Adaptation**

Her hearing came back first. Just in time to hear the gunfire.

Falcon ducked and tried to get back into the air and out of the crossfire, but was dismayed to find that her wings wouldn't respond. She shook her arms in desperation but it was no good. The metallic feathers no longer gleamed iridescent or reflected the lights around her. The lightning had effectively knocked them out of commission.

_Fantastic._ Blind and grounded. What the hell was she going to do now?

She heard another boom in the distance. Well, the man with the Terminator arm was still on the loose, so she had something to distract herself with. Falcon got up and splayed her fingers - then curled them into fists as she concentrated. As much as her radar was a nuisance, Falcon knew she needed it to stop the out of control cyborg.

She could hear the cops and SWAT team yelling. Probably at her but she couldn't tell. Pushing the distracting noises out of her head, Falcon took a deep breath and tensed her muscles.

_Whoomph!_

A small burst of energy exploded around her body, fanning out in all directions. Falcon could feel the dust in the air, now climbing up her nose and making her sneeze. But on the bright side her radar was back, and bringing the regular headache with it.

Wings still useless, Falcon stumbled off the pile of rubble and skidded onto the street. She let her radar see for her, following the vibrations of thunder and heading in that direction. The cyborg was heading back downtown, towards the way she came. Falcon wished she knew what the cause of this mess was - it would make it that much easier to stop the problem, but finding out would have to wait till later.

Bullets whizzed by her head. Falcon gasped, ducking just in time. _They were shooting at her!_ Why were they shooting at her? She was just trying to help!

Traffic was her savior today. The cops and soldiers would have to follow on foot, and they were sure as hell slower in their armor than Falcon was in her suit. Still, those guns would be a problem if they had just the right shot. Falcon overturned several empty cars with her mind, creating a formidable wall that prevented the bullets from reaching her. As soon as she was sure they wouldn't get through anytime soon, Falcon took off running once more.

The world was now a grayish-blackish haze. Falcon could barely see the outlines of people and buildings, but her radar still had the forefront for system navigation. Still, she could see brief flashes of light. The cyborg was just ahead.

He saw Falcon before she saw him. "No, stop! Don't come near me! I don't want to hurt anyone!"

Falcon decided to listen to him this time and came to a halt, ducking behind a car as another bolt of lightning infiltrated her radar's range. Her skin tingled with the residue of left over electricity and Falcon hesitated to get back up again. She doubted getting struck by lightning twice in ten minutes is very good for one's body, even a superhuman's.

"I'm trying to help you!" Falcon called over her hiding spot. Man, if only she could see! Then she'd be able to tell in fine detail what was wrong with that man's robot arm. "Please, just tell me what's wrong!"

There was a scary moment that was only filled with silence, and Falcon thought that maybe the man just keeled over and died, but a second later he shouted back, "I don't know how it happened! I knocked it against something and suddenly it just started going crazy! Do you know how to get it off?"

"Where did you get it?" Falcon asked. Even if he knew, she doubted it would help. Amputees and crazy robot arms weren't her specialty, but she at least had to try.

This time the man couldn't answer her because he was screaming in pain. Falcon flinched covering her ears and cowering behind the car as electricity exploded across the ground, tearing up everything it touched as it went. A fragment of hot metal dinged off her helmet and Falcon flattened herself against the ground.

After the surge was over, Falcon shot to her feet and made a beeline for the now unconscious cyborg. She realized that she couldn't wait around anymore. The arm had to come off, one way or another.

She reached the body of the man, flat on his back with a bloody cut on his head. He was still breathing at least, but now the robotic arm was buzzing and vibrating and glowing with heat. It was so hot, in fact, that Falcon couldn't touch it without burning herself. Still, that wasn't going to stop her.

How did amputees get their prosthetic limbs attached? Surely this couldn't be any different than the usual means, right?

Falcon let her radar scan the mechanics. While her limited understanding of computers and rather physical nature of the radar kept her from reading the internal diagnostics of the robotic arm, Falcon could still recognize the wires implanted into the man's skin. This arm wasn't just screwed on - it was _a part of him_.

_Holy crap, that's intense. _Falcon almost couldn't believe it. Who was capable of that level of technology? She didn't think this kind of thing would show up until some years into the future. How was she going to get a synthetic arm that was attached to the man like it was grown inside of him?

Falcon shuddered at the idea of pulling it out. _Ew, no_. Too messy, and it could endanger the man's life. How was she...how did this thing come off?

"FALCON!" Garret's voice bellowed through a megaphone. "STAND DOWN!"

"Well, I'm _kneeling!_" she snapped back. Falcon really didn't think that the police force (and by extension any SWAT teams) she came across would actually try to stop her from helping them out; but now she had at least twenty very large firearms aimed at her.

Using situations like this as an opportunity to find out whether she really could deflect bullets with her mind or not didn't seem like a good idea. Falcon knew she maybe had ten seconds - _maximum_ - to figure out how to get the arm off before she became the NYPD's first superhuman casualty. She turned back to the unconscious man and concentrated, searching for a weak spot in the robotic arm.

It wasn't easy. Whoever designed knew their stuff, using metals so strong that she was getting a migraine trying to bend them. She could lift up entire cars but not bend a couple synthetic tendons? This was ridiculous!

"I REPEAT!" Garret called again, his voice getting tense. "STAND DOWN!"

"Give me a moment!" Falcon shouted, although she doubted it would do her any good. They weren't there to listen; they were trying to subdue a problem, and the wrong one at that.

_Come on, come on!_ Falcon risked burning herself by skimming her fingers along the sides of the arm, hoping to catch something her mind didn't. Her vision was a little better now - she could see words written on the side of the arm, a label of some sort. She was just about to lean in to read it when -

BLAM!

Falcon gasped a bullet tore through the fabric on her shoulder. It would've hit her heart had she not leaned down to read the inscription. She knew immediately it was only a flesh wound - thank god - but the pain was immense. Falcon could feel warm blood flowing down her arm.

Did they think they hit her? Falcon pressed herself into the tarmac, trying to regulate her breathing. The wound probably only needed a couple stitches, but her heart was pounding like she had just taken the assault to the gut. Her hands shook so hard she couldn't control them.

There was a loud commotion all around her. The SWAT team was moving in, arms at the ready. One of them was already taking out some handcuffs, as if preparing to subdue her. Wait, they thought she was surrendering?

_Oops_, _didn't mean that to happen_. Falcon winced but moved her arms so both hands were planted firmly on the tarmac. She heard one of the men shouting at her not to move, but Falcon already had two concentrated balls of air in her hand.

Controlling air wasn't any easier than controlling water or a really big pot of oatmeal. It refused to be contained and it was even harder to hold. Perhaps that's why she grabbed so much of it, letting it swirl around her body in a mini whirlwind. More shouting incurred, but the gusts were so strong the SWAT guys couldn't aim right.

Falcon was only able to maintain it for a couple seconds before it slipped out of control.

_Whoosh!_

The winds went out in all directions, spiraling out and knocking over anything standing on two feet. Cars skidded a few inches and trashcans and newspaper dispensers were knocked over. Suddenly, every man within a forty foot radius was on his back, either groaning or out cold.

Falcon grinned behind her helmet. _About time._

She got up on her knees again and turned her attention back to the arm. Forgoing elegance or sophistication in removing the arm, Falcon instead decided trying gripping it with her mind. She twisted it at the elbow, snapping the joint and reliving that one seventh grade recess when Astor broke her arm.

The steel-strong metal bent to the will of a panicking superhero going into shock. Her left arm had gone numb and her fingers tingled uncomfortably. Still, the prosthetic proved no match and broke free with a fantastic _SNAP!_

Falcon had been putting so much effort into removing the arm that she fell backwards when it finally came free. It flew off, its light fading as it lost power, and smacked her in the chest so hard that it pushed Falcon backwards, just in time to avoid the incoming jab of a gun's muzzle.

She gasped, clutching the robot arm as Officer Garret stood above her, looking down the barrel of his assault rifle.

Falcon's last close encounter with a gun had not ended well, so she felt her current reaction was justified considering the situation. She didn't even hear Garret's orders to drop what she was holding and surrender - a single shove with her mind and the gun was knocked away from her head.

Caught off guard, Garret was about to realize just how out of his depth he was. Falcon football-tackled him around the knees, taking the huge man down in a single blow. He went down hard, his head cracking against the pavement.

But he was hardly deterred. Gun out of reach, he decided to draw a small cylindrical object, snapped something off the top, and launched it into the air.

Falcon just barely managed to figure out what it was when a fist collided with the side of her head. Thankfully, the helmet took most of the blow, but Falcon was momentarily incapacitated and incapable of stopping the tear gas from exploding.

She had no idea what Garret was thinking, him without a mask on and all. Oh, wait, no. He was putting one on now, as Falcon looked up to see the green gas billowing across the street. Falcon managed to summon a weak gust of air to push it away from her, but she could feel her strength fading. It took a lot out of her to create that whirlwind and tear off the robotic arm. She needed to get out of here.

Garret had already reached his gun and was turning back to aim it at her. But Falcon understood that this was not a battle she could afford to continue, and expanded her wings, hoping for the best.

They flickered to life, but she could see where the lightning had struck, creating a black dendritic pattern across the feathers where its iridescence couldn't shine. A large chunk of feathers were not even working at all, but Falcon didn't have time to wait for them to come back online. She needed to go _now_.

"Falcon, I'm going to say this _one last time_," Officer Garret warned, his gun ready. "Stand _down_ or I will shoot."

"Hey," Falcon grinned weakly behind her helmet, slowly raising her hands in feigned surrender. "Let me make that decision for you."

And thrusting her arms back down, Falcon returned to the air.

Flying half-blind wasn't Falcon's idea of fun, but there was no way she could get away from these guys quickly enough without getting captured. She was too far out of range by the time Officer Garret could react, but she could hear the start of sirens again. How they could dream of following her in that traffic, she had no idea.

But Falcon couldn't stay up here for long, no matter how safe she felt. Robotic arm in one hand, she made her slow descent into an inconspicuous alleyway, out of the eye of any government official.

OoOoO

I scrambled out of the alleyway, out of breath and a little singed. There were ambulances in the street where me and Eddie were in last, but I didn't see any black body bags being zipped up, so I assumed he was okay.

There was a big scene carrying in the source of all the chaos, the man with only one half of a synthetic arm. I watched as the cyborg man was strapped into a gurney, still unconscious but now donning an oxygen mask. From what I learned from chatter, he was going to make a full recovery once the remainder of his prosthetic arm was removed. Thankfully, no one else had gotten seriously hurt.

There were paramedics, civilians, and a lot of news stations milling around. The media people were most annoying. One even asked me for my experience, but I waved them away. I couldn't tell them a convincing story to save my life, and I doubted telling them the truth would be a good idea.

Eddie found me first.

I had been wandering around a campsite of emergency vehicles when he came right out of nowhere, clothes in one of those white blankets ambulances always seemed to have, enveloping me in a giant hug.

"Jesus, Amy, you're okay!" He said into my shoulder, shuddering with relief. I thought he might have been crying or something, but that stupid idea was dashed when he drew back and demanded angrily, "Where _the hell_ have you been?"

"Uh," Oh, crap, my cover story! I had been telling it over and over in my head, in preparation for this, but because of Eddie's surprise attack, I lost it. "I was, um, hiding. Behind some cars."

Eddie stared at me. He had hands on either side of my shoulder. I winced at his grip, but I was afraid of showing my pain in case he got curious and saw the bullet wound beneath my sleeve. Yes, I had wrapped it up with some gauze from the first aid kit I now had to carry everywhere (it was incredibly how badly hurt I could get just fighting a couple thugs on the way to school), and it was hidden under my shirt and jacket. But I could still feel the blood seeping through. Underneath my layers, I could feel it trickle down my arm.

"You," he said after a long moment. "Are officially insane."

I smiled at him, too weak to come up with a defense. It wasn't like he was wrong, after all. With his attention on my face, I took the chance to draw my left hand up my sleeve, to cover the trail of blood now curling down my fingers. "Um, well, yeah."

"You're hurt," Eddie raised his hand, taking it off my left arm to touch a tender bruise on the side of my head, where Officer Garret took a swing at me. I winced at the contact, and he drew away immediately. "How did you get that?"

"When we fell," I said. This lie came a lot more easily, and I was surprised with myself. Surprised and a little bit impressed. Maybe I'll actually get good at this with some practice. "I hit my head on the ground. I think I got knocked out for a second or two, but I found cover behind some cars. I didn't come out until a police man came over, telling me it was safe. I wish I found you sooner. I didn't want you to worry."

Woo, that's good.

"Ha, yeah, that ship has sailed," Eddie shook his head, his look of concern now replaced by a grin of relief. "Trouble just comes looking for you, doesn't it?"

"Sure seems that way," I laughed nervously. Why was I so uncomfortable? A part of me was ecstatic to have Eddie's arm wrapped around my shoulder. It was like every dream come true. In that moment, I desperately needed an excuse to make it last longer. "I think I've had enough, erm, trouble for a while. I think we should get some burgers."

"That is an excellent idea," Eddie agreed. "Come on, my motorcycle is this way."

OoOoO

The rest of the night was spent peacefully. I went to bed that night a little late but safe nonetheless, with Aunt May and Peter none the wiser of my activity earlier that night. Still, my mind was at unrest and I couldn't sleep.

No matter how hard I tried, I could not forget what I discovered why changing identities in that alleyway. As I had stuffed the robotic arm into my backpack, I was disturbed when finally reading the inscription on the side:

**SYNDICON**


	15. Chapter 15: Resistance

**Happy New Year!  
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**Reviews are appreciated. Enjoy :)  
**

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**Chapter Fifteen**

**Resistance**

"How are you feeling today, Amelia?" Dr. Kindell asked me. He offered to let me call him Joe, because familiarity breeds contempt. Well, he didn't actually say that last part, but I'd been reading too much Shakespeare.

Either way, I refused. "Fine."

That was a lie, we both knew it. But there was no word I could find to describe my emotional state at the moment, so 'fine' was the default answer. And it was much easier facing the wall, sitting in a big comfy couch instead of in front of his desk. I liked this a lot better - talking to a wall was a lot better than talking to a face.

"Really?" he sounded skeptical, as usual. "Because you've noted in your journal that you've been having trouble sleeping."

"I slept fine last night," it was true. I was so wiped from taking an English test and chasing down a bunch of carjackers across Harlem. For Halloween, it wasn't that bad a night. The police had been busy with other cases, so they left me alone most of the time.

"But most nights, you can't sleep?"

"...Yeah."

"And why is that?"

"I don't know. I just can't."

"Do you feel scared in the dark?"

I hadn't been afraid of the dark since I was eight.

"No, but it says here you've been hearing noises inside the house. What do they make you feel?"

"Nothing. It's usually Peter wandering around for some reason. I...I recognize his footsteps." I scowled at the wall. Sometimes I wondered why he'd be up at two in the morning, but I never asked because I didn't want him knowing why I was, either. Whatever his reasons, Peter was always quiet.

"And what about when it's not Peter, what do you feel then?"  
Scared.

"They don't bother me."

"Right," I heard the skepticism in Dr. Kindell's voice again, but he didn't press the matter. Instead he asked, "Do you experience nightmares often?"

"You mean when I'm actually sleeping?" I almost laughed at this part. "Sometimes."

"What are they about?"

Mom. The man with the moon scar. His gun.

I shrugged. "I don't know. I don't really remember them."

Behind me, I heard Dr. Kindell sigh and drop his pen against his paper. "You seem to be forgetting a lot, aren't you, Amelia?"

He was calling my bluff. I didn't appreciate it. Glaring at the wall, I spoke through gritted teeth, "Maybe I don't _want_ to remember."

It was supposed to be a mutter, but this was a quiet room. Dr. Kindell heard me clearly. "Amelia, I don't think you understand what we're trying to do here. Remembering is a key part of the process to acceptance."

"Someone tried to kill me and they took away my mom," I said coldly. "I don't know if anything like that's ever happened to you, Doctor, but you don't just reach _acceptance_ about something like that."

"What _do_ you reach, then?"

I didn't answer, because I didn't know quite yet.

"Amelia, you realize you skipped our last appointment?"

"What makes you assume I skipped?"

"Well, you tend to forget things you don't want to remember," the tone in Dr. Kindell's voice was wry. "And I'm not an idiot. I know you don't like coming here."

"Oh, no," I said in a dead monotone. "You've uncovered my nefarious plot to avoid _therapy sessions_."

It sounded dumb when I said it. Maybe that was the point.

Dr. Kindell was not amused. "Why did you skip?"

I became Falcon.

"I was busy." I replied.

"Doing what?"

I didn't know what to say to a direct question like that. Lying had become difficult. "I've been having...issues. With one of my friends."

"Oh," for once, Dr. Kindell sounded surprised. Then again, I didn't tell him anything, so maybe whatever progress he made was something to be excited about. He surged forth with the next question, "What problems were they having?"

Oh, crap. I hadn't intended to tell him the truth, and even now I hesitated. Sure, the whole thing blew over, but... "It was my friend, Harry. He's been having, erm..." I didn't want to choose _now_ to start spilling some secrets, especially one three different people on three different occasions made me swear not to tell. "_substance_ issues. Like, the bad kind? Me and Gwen, we tried talking to him but nothing worked out until - until his dad found out."

"What happened?"

"I don't know, I wasn't there," I lied. "But Harry's gone now, somewhere in Europe. Getting help, I suppose."

"Do you think he deserves it?"

"Well, _yeah_," I was almost insulted he asked. "Of course he does! Harry's my friend, and what he did...it changed him."

"In that case, don't you think he'd want _you_to get better, too? I can't imagine you're the same person you were a month ago, Amelia. He'd want you to find help, too."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Dr. Kindell was trying to guilt me into coming to his stupid therapy sessions! But I couldn't deny he had a point, as much as I hated to admit it. "But...this is different."

"How is this different?"

"He didn't lose everything."

"He could have, if it wasn't for his friends." Dr. Kindell told me. "What do you think would have happened for him if you and Gwen and Peter weren't there?"  
Well, neither Gwen nor Pete was actually _there_, but Spider-Man definitely showed his face. I decided not to confess that. "I don't know. I guess he would've just kept on going, until he gave in completely."

"And are you glad you stepped in?"

Yes. It would've been better if Spider-Man hadn't stuck his ugly masked face in the matter, but apparently Green Goblin had made it personal. "I guess so, yeah. But don't use that against me! I'm not going to lose control like he did!"

I heard the small smile on his face. "Oh, yeah? How so?"

He was challenging me. I almost embraced the opportunity. "I've been - I've been trying to make some changes in my life. You know, get better grades and stuff."

"Is that all that's new?"

No.

"Yes, basically. My friends have been helping me out. Gwen mostly. But now I'm sharing an internship with Astor Sloane."

"Astor..." he had to figure out her identity. "The girl who's been bullying you?"

"Not anymore. She's...different, too."

"Not the person you thought she was?"

"No, she's still Astor. But a different Astor. One who's an intern at InTec, apparently."

"This surprises you?"

"A little." Wow, _that_ was a lie.

"How does it make you feel, Astor being like this?"

"Confused, mostly. I don't know. It's almost a complete one-eighty, except she's still all about sports and thinks I'm a nerd. But she doesn't push me around, not as much. I don't know why - I _guess_ I should feel happy, but I don't."

"Do you think she might be trying to trick you for whatever reason?"

I almost threw him a look. "Astor wouldn't put this much effort into some prank she wanted to pull on me. It feels sincere. I guess after five years of being her punching bag, I don't want to trust anything she does."

"So you have difficulty trusting others," I heard the _scritch-scratch_ of him writing something down. I almost shot out of my seat - he can't write that down! But I realized if I protested, he'd write that down, too.

Denial - Dr. Kindell was still convinced I was in that stage. Still, I didn't appreciate him making that assumption. I mean, it's _Astor_. Anything she did was reason for me to be suspicious. "Well, for the record, she's always scared me, so this _trust issue _- " I made air quotes " - is just with her, okay?"

"Are you sure?"

_That_ time I turned and gave him a look. "_Yes_, I'm sure. She's the only person I don't trust right now. Her and -"

I stopped myself before I said _Oriole Kane_.

"Who?" he pressed, when I didn't finish my sentence. "Is there someone else you feel has some sort of hidden agenda?"

I didn't like the way he put it. "No. Some people just freak me out sometimes. That's all."

"Are you going to tell me who?"

"No." Not until I have reason to believe Oriole Kane is exactly who I first thought she was: just an innocent civilian who's been through some unfortunate circumstances. I was hesitant to assume she had nothing to hide.

"Oh." He sounded disappointed, although I don't know why, because I didn't share much with him in the first place. "Well, our time is almost up for today. Can I ask you one more question before you go?"  
I sighed. "Sure,"

"Who was that man that drove you here on his motorcycle?"

I got up and slung on my coat, smiling for the first time ever in that room. "Just a friend of mine."

OoOoO

"Yo, Birdbrain!"

_Aw, crap. _Falcon closed her eyes and inhaled through her nose. Of course he found her. She couldn't hide forever, not in New York City. She thought that maybe camping out on a tall skyscraper might keep him away, since flying could take you higher than climbing, but that still wasn't good enough.

"Well, I haven't seen you in..." Spider-Man dropped down onto the roof, crawling down the wall with near silent movements. "How long has it been? Three days?"

Falcon turned around, crossing her arms. "Two, actually. What do you want?"

"Oooh, straight to the point!" Spider-Man strutted over, like a peacock fanning its tail feathers. What did he have to be so proud of? Falcon saw nothing impressive. "You, uh, you're not really good at banter, huh?"

Falcon glared at him silently.

"Wow, all right!" Spider-Man stepped back, raising innocent hands. "Clearly I caught you on a bad day, no biggie. I just thought you might want to see the White Rose guy I nabbed a few minutes ago."

"Whoa, what?"

"But, hey, if you're in a bad mood, I'll come around another day," Spider-Man shrugged, turning around as if he hadn't heard her surprise. "I mean, there are _tons_ of mobsters out there, and you're a decent hero, I'm sure you'll get one of them eventually. So...bye."

"Hey, wait!" Falcon lunged forward before Spider-Man could jump off the building, grabbing his arm and hauling him back. He was taller and heavier than she was, but Falcon was proud to admit that she at least got him to stay. "Show me."

Spider-Man looked down at her, and with a condescending tone, asked, "What's the magic word?"

"Seriously?"

"Seriously."

"Oh, fine," Falcon rolled her eyes. "Will you _please_ show me?"

"Will you please show me, what?"

"Come on, I said it nicely! I'm not calling you 'sir'!"

"I was actually looking for 'Your Highness,' but 'sir' works just as fine!" Spider-Man shrugged, then jumped up against a column, sticking to it without a thought. He began to climb higher up the building. "You coming or what?"

Falcon sniffed and unsheathed her wings. They had since repaired themselves from the Cyborg's attack, something she found quite convenient. She had no idea what she would have done if they had been permanently damaged. It wasn't like she could just find a new pair on E-Bay or something.

Spider-Man swung from building to building. Falcon kept up over head - she wasn't letting him out of her sight, in case this was some sort of trick. She didn't know if she could trust Spider-Man, since he seemed to keen on pranking her. All that goofing around and cracking jokes when he could be dunking bad guys - why waste the time? Falcon just didn't understand Spider-Man's way of thinking.

He took her all the way to Brooklyn. How long did it take him to bag the guy and find her? Falcon feared that the dirtbag might've already escaped while Spider-Man left him hanging (his usual method of catching goons was mummifying them in web and hanging them from lampposts - it was the one thing she thought Spider-Man did right).

Spider-Man landed on top of a rickety warehouse. He waited for her to land before saying, "So, what do you think of the spaceship landing?"

"Does this have anything to do with the White Rose guy?" Falcon asked, throwing him a look he couldn't see. Why was Spider-Man asking about this? It was random, which in itself isn't unusual for Spider-Man, but she wondered - had something important happened? She missed the live broadcast but caught snippets afterwards. All the astronauts made it out alive, one of whom was J. Jonah Jameson's own son, and the ship only received damage to the nose.

"Not really. Just making conversation." Spider-Man shrugged, then sauntered over to one end of the building. "But what's your opinion on extraterrestrial life?"

"What kind are we talking about?" Falcon found herself vaguely interested in the topic, although she wasn't sure why. Maybe she'd seen too many movies to find the topic unusual. "_Star Wars_, _Star Trek_, or _ET_?"

"Uh," Spider-Man thought for a moment, tilting his head as he pondered. "None of those. Did you know they found an alien substance on that spaceship? NASA thinks it's from collision with the asteroid."

"I didn't hear about that," Falcon frowned. "What do they know about it?"

"It's liquid and black, but they've sent it to ESU to get analyzed." Spider-Man said, then added proudly, "It's a symbiote."

"How would you know that?"

"I w-watch the news," Spider-Man stuttered, as if that were a question he wasn't prepared for. He made up for it was a defensive response, "Something you should do more often, Falcon."

"Right," Falcon smirked. She cocked her head. "What's a symbiote, Spider-Man?"

"Do I look like a dictionary to you?"

All right, this was getting her nowhere. Spider-Man's inconsistent knowledge was grating on her nerves. Falcon shook her head and said, "Just forget it. Where's the guy you found?"

"Down there," he pointed over the edge of the building. Falcon peered down. Hanging from a lamppost wriggled a man bound up in web. On hand was exposed, his sleeve pulled up to reveal a small flower tattoo. "Have fun."

Falcon dropped down, landing on the top of the lamppost hard enough to shake it. The man beneath her gasped and ceased his struggling to hyperventilate. She looked over the edge to examine him.

The man couldn't have been older than his early twenties. He had to be a newbie, Falcon figured. A recruit who didn't quite understand the finer points of getting away with crime. She waited a while, just to play on his anxiety, before finally asking, "So, who do you work for?"

"W-what?" the man's teeth chattered in the cold November night.

"Who. Do. You. Work. For." Falcon enunciated slowly.

"Hey, I ain't no snitch!" the man snapped. "I'm with of the brotherhood now! I was personally chosen to become a part of them."

"Well, they picked wrong," Falcon said, crossing her arms. "What were you trying to do, jack a car?"

The man didn't speak right away. After a second, he mumbled, "...Yeah."

"That didn't really work out for you, huh?"

"Not really."

"Did you think just because this is a bad neighborhood that there wasn't going to be anyone to stop you?" Falcon asked.

"Hey, don't you judge me!" the man complained, wriggling with indignation. He tried to look up at her, but his neck didn't could crane that far forward. "Wait a second. You Falcon?"

"The one and only."

"Oh, crap!" the man began to wriggle with more ferocity. He seemed panicked now, as if something were going to come out and eat him. "Please don't kill me!"

Falcon wasn't expecting that. "Why would I want to kill you? You're just a car jacker."

"Look, I know what they say about you!" he snapped, not willing to be duped by her. Falcon didn't know what he was talking about. "The brotherhood, they know you're after them. They know you're trying to stop us!"

"Is that so?" Falcon smiled a little. Stopping the White Rose wasn't really her plan, although she wouldn't limit herself if that was what it took to get her mother back. "Exactly how did they come about with my master plan?"

"The bank robbery!" the car jacker exclaimed, scared out of his mind. Falcon liked intimidating him. It was fun. "The hits!"

"The hits?" Falcon paused, then jumped down, landing the hood of a car below. She stood at eye level to the car jacker. "The hits on Oriole Kane? They were organized by the White Rose?"

"N-no!" The man shook his head, but it was pretty obvious he had just let the cat out of the bag. "Look, I've said too much all ready, I ain't saying no more. Why do you got it in for the White Rose, anyways?"

Falcon looked at the man. He stared back, his eyes wide. She blinked. "I've got my reasons. You don't need to know."

"They're gonna destroy you," the car jacker said, his teeth chattering. But the look in his eyes were earnest as he continued, "The White Rose always finishes what it starts. No one gets in their way, not even you, chick. You're way out of your league. You should quit now, before they ruin your life."

Falcon shook her head. "They made it personal. They have no idea what I'm capable of."

"Yeah, that so?" the car jacker didn't seem quite so afraid of her. "Have you seen all that they've done? I don't think you know what _they're_ capable of, either."

Falcon shifted, disturbed. This man, despite his ineptitude in crime, wasn't joking around. Her gut was telling her that he knew what he was talking about, that she might just be dealing with something larger than she first thought. But what had she to compare it to? All she'd ever caught were car jackers.

"You remember that stand-off?" the car jacker asked her. "All those cops dead, and not a single one of us caught. The higher ups don't care about the innocents. You think I'm they're worst? I've started, and I'll get better. Trust me, Falcon. You've started something that you can't stop. You get in our way, and we'll make it worse for you. You may not see it right now, but they have the whole city is in their palm, and one day everyone's gonna know. You can hold me to my word on that."

Falcon was shaking now. No, no, he was lying. This wasn't true. The White Rose wasn't this powerful. They couldn't be. There was no way they had control over the whole city. They couldn't take over; it just simply wasn't possible...

"So?" the car jacker smirked. "What do you have to say to that?"

Falcon opened her mouth to speak, but heard sirens in the distance. The police. She had to get out of here.

She held a hand up, let the web wrap a little tighter around the man's throat. Not tight enough to suffocate, but just enough to choke. As he gasped, she said, "They need a whole army to take down one girl. They're not as strong as they think they are."

"How - how are you - ack!" the man started to panic again. Apparently her powers weren't as well known as she thought.

Falcon smiled. "Spread the word. You're quite chatty."

As the cops rounded the corner, she took off into the air.

She landed a fair distance away, on an old, dark apartment building with no cop cars in sight. Spider-Man arrived shortly afterwards, looking mildly out of breath.

He turned to her, hands on hips. "Well, _that_ was intense."

"You watched the whole thing?"

"Well, _yeah_." Spider-Man tilted his head, appearing to roll his eyes. "You're a great interrogator, by the way. Or maybe he's just a lousy crook. I thought he was going to pee himself."

His attempt to make her laugh didn't work. Falcon hugged herself, contemplating a question. "Spider-Man, how powerful do you think the White Rose is? I mean, you must've ran across _some_ underground organizations, right?"

"Eh," Spider-Man shrugged. "The Big Man, mostly. But he only deals in petty crimes, makes bad guys to keep me distracted. The White Rose seems a little more serious than that."

"The car jacker said they had the whole city in their palms, like they could just take over whenever they wanted," Falcon told him. She tried to keep the fear out of her voice, but she slipped and couldn't stop her voice from trembling. "They're not afraid to kill innocents if that's what it takes to keep me from stopping them."

"Yeah, the Big Man isn't like that _at all_," Spider-Man shook his head, starting to look a little concerned as well. He rubbed his chin, taking a moment to think. "He's a little more low-key, you know? No large deaths, otherwise it brings attention. But the White Rose are in it for the power, not the money."

Falcon winced. It pained her to say it, but there was no other way to put it. "I don't know what to do, Spider-Man. I can't keep doing it if it means people are going to die. I can't be Falcon and stop them at the same time."

Spider-Man looked at her, his silence grim.

"So don't." he said.

"W-what?"

"Don't be Falcon." Spider-Man paused, then reiterated. "I mean, don't let them know it's you. Stay out of their way for a while, work at night when people can't catch you on camera. That's what I do sometimes."

"But I can't follow them like that, Spider-Man. If their guys get caught, they'll know it's me!"

"Not if they're covered in web," Spider-Man held up his hands before she could object to the idea. "Just hear me out. They know you got it in for them, but they think I'm just out here for the kicks. I don't have revenge on my mind. Falcon, I can get them _for _you."

She took a second to let this sink in. "Are you serious?"

"Since when am I not?" Spider-Man demanded, arms crossing.

"But...what if they figure that out, too?"

"What, no faith in the Webhead? You can trust me, Falcon," Spider-Man told her. He waved a hand over the cityscape. "I've been doing all of this longer than you have. The White Rose may be as powerful as you think they are - maybe they _can_ rule all five boroughs, maybe they _can _overthrow the police and turn the city into their own territory. And maybe - _just maybe_ - two superheroes are too much for them to handle. After all, it's not like they've had to deal with us before. It's a whole new ballgame now!"

Falcon started to smile a little. Spider-Man may be an idiot sometimes, but he also knew how to make her feel better. She definitely wasn't going to tell him that. "Maybe you're right."

"Of course I'm right!" Spider-Man exclaimed. "But you have to promise me something."

"Um, okay." Falcon didn't know what he could possibly as for. She wasn't going to do anything that stroked his ego - she appreciated his help, but she wasn't going make his head any bigger than it already was. "What is it?"

"You have to help me out sometimes." Spider-Man replied. He pointed to OSCORP tower, glimmering in the distance. "Something weird is happening up there, I just know it. The Green Goblin may be out of commission, but I can't be sure. You haven't seen him in action, but he's just as dangerous as your White Rose friends, only green and ugly. And I've got a whole team of bad guys just waiting for me to slip up. Sandman, Electro, Doctor Octopus, heck, even Vulture! I just get the weird feeling they're gonna team up and kill me."

"Is it all that surprising they would want to?"

Spider-Man threw her a look. "Okay, I'm not entirely sure what you mean, but it didn't sound very nice so I'm going to be offended. But - jeez, I'd feel better knowing I've got _someone_ at my back. The police are just so _fickle_."

"Fickle? You actually know that word?"

"I'm not an idiot, Falcon."

"Oh. Sure."

"I really don't like your attitude. Are you always this grumpy?"

Falcon tried to stifle a laugh. As much as he got on her nerves, Falcon enjoyed any chance she got to get on his. "Hey, I promise, okay? I'm on your side if anyone tries to kill you, Spider-Man. Unless it's me."

"That's very touching, thank you." A helicopter flew overhead, its search light scanning the area. "Looks like the police are still on our tail. Gotta go. Next time?"

"Yeah," Falcon shook out her wings, shifting her shoulders in preparation for flight. Helicopters were tough to shake off. "Hopefully, neither of us will be dying."

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Spider-Man asked, a little insulted. He stretched out an arm and started to swing away. As he flew through the air, he twisted around and called, "You still owe me a new web-shooter!"


	16. Chapter 16: Prototype

**Whenever I'm writing, I listen to songs that I feel are specific to the story itself. For Falcon, it's usually Wide Awake, Bring Me to Life, and New Divide. But that's just me :/  
**

**Anyways, enjoy!  
**

**Reviews are appreciated.  
**

* * *

**Chapter Sixteen**

**Prototype**

APEX tower was in turmoil.

"Danny, come on, you're slowing down the line!" Dr. Grace shouted over the noise. She was in the middle of unscrewing a twitchy wrist from a woman's arm. Dr. Daniel was struggling pulling out a knee from the socket of a man with mutton chops. "Dr. Kane isn't going to wait forever, you know!"

Her complaints didn't make him work any faster. A few more seconds of struggling and Dr. Grace stood up, pushed him aside, and yanked out the knee in one go. She turned to him, waving the prosthetic arm. "See, Danny? _That's_ how you do it! Do I have to do everything around here?"

Ever since the Cyborg man hit the news (his real name was Stanley Korte, an Army veteran), following his rampage of destruction across several downtown streets, APEX has been fending off reporters and officials from asking too many questions. Specifically the wrong kind. Most of the afternoon was spent cleaning up the mess they left.

The design was discovered to be something they manufactured - although the creator of the designs was never located, nor the company that he or she worked for, APEX still held partial responsibility for the catastrophic wiring in the robotic arm. They insisted they followed what had been given to them, and passed the blame on whoever came up with it. This turned out to be incredibly convenient for PR agents, who knew the media couldn't question someone that didn't exist.

Time as an intern became hectic. InTec stocks dropped - it was them, specifically, that had produced the materials to build the arm, even supplied a few design options that made the robotic implants sleeker. The lab was full of amputees, people who had similar prosthetics as Stanley Korte, which had to be removed before they ended up the same way as him.

Neither I or Astor were trained to removed the prosthetics, which included not only arms and legs, but even hands, fingers, and toes. I myself was a little grossed out, so Doctor Grace assigned the two of us to fix some computer bugs in an adjoining office. Apparently Doctor Daniel had contracted a worm, as well as welcomed a few Trojan horses into his hard drive. He had also earned the attention of a key logger, which left me and Astor frustrated to solve the multitude of problems.

"Why does this thing keep crashing?" Astor demanded, smacking the space-bar several times as the screen turned black and the power indicator shut off. "I can't run a virus scan fast enough!"

I was searching his desk drawers for a manual of some sort. Is there a guide to help someone with problems on their computer, specifically ones earned from the Internet? "Dr. Daniel isn't the most tech savvy person I know. Did you see how his rover spit smoke the other day? He burned his fingers trying to fix the problem."

"Dr. Daniel is an idiot," Astor said bluntly. I didn't agree with her aloud, but I couldn't help but think she might be right. Dr. Daniel's common sense left something to be desired.

"Be nice," I said instead. "He's not as good as Dr. Grace. I'm sure he's still learning, like us. It's tough."

"Yeah, well," Astor scowled, falling back in the seat and crossing her arms, waiting for the computer to boot up again. "He could at least be better at computers. I thought _you_ were good at this sort of stuff."

"What, computers?" I asked, almost laughing. "Our computer at home is over ten years old. We still have dial-up. I don't know anything about computers except email and typing essays. Still, this is a great chance to learn more. I wouldn't mind becoming a sort of computer geek."

"Is that what this is to you?" Astor demanded, motioning to Dr. Daniel's computer. Its keyboard didn't work, so all commands had to be done through the mouse pad. "A learning experience?"

"Why not?"

She rolled her eyes. "You are _such _a nerd."

"Thanks." I had to hide the smirk growing across my face. The bottom drawers were locked, so I left them alone. My radar told me they were filled only with files, so they probably wouldn't serve us much good. I pointed at the screen, "Look up the key loggers again, I think I remember how to get rid of those."

Astor leaned towards the computer and went through the system files. I liked learning more about how a computer worked, but she wasn't as appreciative. I guess she didn't do more with her own computer except play games. A window appeared on the screen, showing various bits of information on the key logger. I got up and peered in, reading.

"In what situation does a scientist get a key logger while on the Internet?" she asked, leaning back again. That was our thing. She did 15% of the work, and I did the rest. "I mean, what could he possibly be looking for that has people phishing for private info?"

"I don't know, but all his passwords are 'admin' so I don't really think he's an expert on security," I replied. Dr. Grace had forgotten to mention how to get into his computer when she assigned the task, but we found it easily enough: a post-it note on the underside of his laptop. I was about to add something else to that comment, until I read something interesting. "Huh."

"What?" Astor asked before I could figure it out.

"I think..." I paused and then pointed to the line of words under the name of the program. "I think we can find its IP address."

"What's an IP address?"

"It's source. There's a different one for each site." I glanced at the manual and accessed the computer's command console. I pinged the name of the program and waited for the results. A stack of lines appeared beneath the prompt. I pointed to a set of numbers. "Look here, the IP address: . We can trace it to wherever the key logger is coming from."

"We can do that?" Astor looked surprised.

"Of we can. It's the twenty-first century. They do it lots of times on TV."

"How do we do trace it?"

"Um," I didn't know how long it would be for the computer to crash again, so I acted quickly. Using the manual as a guide, I typed in the _whois_ command and copy-pasted the IP address. I pressed enter and waited.

A moment or two later, I received this:

**OrgName: Syndicon, Inc.**

** OrgId: DELTA-3**

** Address: 3021 Stone Street**

** City: New York City**

** StateProv: New York**

"What the hell is Syndicon?" Astor squinted at the letters. "Wait, 3021 Stone Street? That's where _we_ are! That's the APEX building!"

She practically shot out of her chair. Her eyes were alight with excitement. "We have to tell someone!"

"No!" I grabbed her wrist before she could dash out of the room. I pulled her back, much harder than I meant to, and immediately let go when her other hand turned into a fist. "Okay, don't hurt me. But please, just listen."

"What is it, Fletcher?" she demanded. She stabbed a finger at the computer. "Someone inside this very building is trying to hack information from InTec, from Dr. Daniel. Don't you think that's worth saying something about? They could be stealing information and selling it to someone else!"

That was almost exactly what I was thinking, but if I agreed, that would only give Astor more gusto. I didn't know how to calm her down without revealing I knew more than I should. "Astor, just hang on a second. I know it's suspicious but...if word got out about this, what do you think would happen? APEX can't handle a security breach like this, not after the Cyborg incident. We don't even know if Syndicon - whoever they are - has actually taken anything important yet."

"Then what should we do?" Astor asked, lowering her fist. She pinned me down with a hard gaze, not happy with the fact that we were going to keep this a secret.

"I think we should investigate."

"Like Nancy Drew?" I think those were the only books Astor's ever read.

"Yes. Exactly like Nancy Drew. I want to find out who this Syndicon is. I've never heard of them before."

"Too bad it didn't tell us exactly _who_ the key logger is." Astor frowned, then crossed her arms. "We can check the directory though, look at the list of companies that work here. Oh! Do an online search! Google knows everything."

I almost told her I had already tried that, but stopped myself just in time. I couldn't tell her that my previous search had ended up fruitless, that Syndicon didn't exist and the only thing Google could find was a guy on MySpace that hadn't logged in for five years. "Okay, but I don't think we'll find anything important."

"It has an IP address!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms in the air. "It's from the Internet! Google would know!"

"IP addresses can be encrypted, too," I added. I didn't know what encrypted meant, simply that it stopped kids like us from finding out what Syndicon was. After almost a month of searching, I doubted I could find anything important _now._ "They can stop us from finding out who they really are."

"Well, I'm going to look around. You search and tell me what you find," Astor ordered. She had just reached the closed door when she turned around and asked, "We _are_ going to tell them, right? I mean, how long should we keep this secret?"

I didn't know how to answer that. I bit my lip, then said, "As long as it takes. I think they'll like it if we solve it now so they don't have to later."

It wasn't that great a reason, but I couldn't think of anything else. Either way, it appeased Astor's surprising sense of morality and she disappeared. I sat down in the swivel chair, performing a search I knew would be fruitless. If Astor didn't find anything, where could we go next?

I was desperate to know who created the source of my powers. How did they do it? Why? And who were they sending it to on that cold rainy day? Why did I happen to be the unlucky one splashed with one of their experiments? Did they know I was here? Did they know who I actually was?

I didn't think so, but a creeping suspicion made me shiver. What if all this time, I was being followed and didn't know it? The very idea terrified me.

Ten minutes later, Astor returned. She dumped a two inch pile of papers on the desk, making a loud thud as she did so. I stared at the pile. "What's all that?"

"The directory," Astor said proudly, grinning. "Looks like we got a lot of reading to do. Did you find anything online?"

I glanced at the screen. I hadn't even pressed the enter button to complete the search yet. I quickly rectified the error before she could see. "No. They're doing a good job hanging under the radar."

"Well, that sucks," Astor said, taking a portion of the papers off the stack and sat on the floor. "Come on, I can't do this all by myself."

We spent the next half hour looking through long lists of names and descriptions. The directory included labs, personnel, projects and directors. Finding companies behind them were difficult, as they were imbedded somewhere in the words and weren't made immediately obvious to the reader. You'd think a company big on expanding technology would be more organized, but nope!

I slammed down my section, bigger than Astor's, and groaned. "This is hopeless. There's nothing here! Syndicon doesn't exist."

Astor didn't look very pleased herself. She tossed aside her stack of papers, letting them scatter across the floor. "So, what, Syndicon is a phantom company? I thought those only existed in, like, movies and stuff."

"Sometimes," I shrugged, looking glumly at the computer. I almost considered doing another Google search, but then it crashed again. In our search for Syndicon, we forgot to get rid of the key logger virus. "Bigger companies make up false identities to buy property and assets for less money, and hide from the seller who they're really giving their stuff, too. I don't know why'd they'd want to sneak into APEX, though, and use the fake name if it's not even in the directory. But I bet whoever really owns Syndicon wants something InTec has."

"Probably a competitor." Astor nodded. "But InTec isn't exactly running in a competitive field. Aren't they, like, so innovative that they just made up their own division?"

"I think so, but they're also a peaceful organization. They don't do government contracts."

"Are you saying Syndicon is a front for the CIA or something?"

"No, of course not!" I objected, surprised by the idea. It actually wasn't that bad, but I hesitated to believe it. "I'm just saying, if Syndicon _designed _the arms but is hacking into their own sponsors, who for some reason don't know they exist and yet have their names on the prosthetics, what does that say about -"

I didn't get to finish before the door opened and Dr. Daniel peeked in. "Are you two done yet? We're about to give a presentation. Grace wants everyone to see it."

On the other side, we heard Dr. Grace shouting, "Danny, come on, stop wasting my time! You can be lazy later!"

Dr. Grace was kind of bossy. She tended to push Dr. Daniel around, tell him what to do all the time, usually that it was wrong. They were brother and sister, so it didn't seem too weird, but I still kind of felt bad for him. But the guy took it pretty well. He had patience, at least, and a sense of humor.

Dr. Daniel flushed and nodded to us before closing the door.

We looked at each other.

"We should probably clean up." I said. "Technically speaking, this looks a little weird."

"Yeah." Astor nodded, then dumped all the papers into the recycling bin. She saw the look on my face and said, "What? It's good for the environment!"

"You could have at least shredded it."

"Whatever," Astor shook her head, then opened the door to exit. "You coming, loser?"

I took a deep breath and got up, slinging on my backpack as I went. In the lab, Dr. Grace was all geared up for a show. The amputees had vacated, while the Syndicon ones were lined up on a series of tables. Now there were scientists from other floors, as well as some directors and people I didn't even know worked here, whispering amongst themselves. They all looked important and smart.

I glanced at Dr. Daniel, who was practically hopping with excitement. "Exactly how big _is_ this show?"

"It's what we've been working on for the past eight months, and it's finally ready. We're showing everyone tonight. Even Dr. Kane is here!" He smiled and pointed in her direction.

Dr. Kane, dressed as prim as ever, was talking gently to another scientist. She noticed us staring a waved. I wondered if she had any idea who I really was. Did she know InTec was getting hacked by Syndicon? I wondered if this sort of corporate espionage was regular for everyone, or if Syndicon was trying to bring us down on purpose.

I wondered if maybe I was starting to get a little paranoid.

"Alright, everyone!" Dr. Grace clapped her hands to get the attention of her audience. She was standing on a podium above the floor, so we had to look up to see her. She was standing in front of the glass wall separating us from the giant metal column. I still had no idea what it did, but I hoped I'd finally get to find out today. "I'm Dr. Grace Martin and this is my little brother, Dr. Daniel Martin. Today, we're going to present to you InTec's latest achievement in robotic technology."

She pointed to Dr. Daniel, who was manning a control panel covered in buttons, dials, and screens. "Let's show 'em, Danny."

He pressed a button, and behind the glass the column began to turn. Slowly, the metal slid back to reveal a humanoid form, made entirely of metal parts and wiring. It looked almost futuristic, with its white covering and smooth surfaces. The only thing that seemed to be missing was a face. There was only a blank piece of metal in its place.

People ooh'd and ahh'd, clapping as lights shone down on the dormant robot. Dr. Grace raised her arms in triumph. "This, my fellow scientists, is the world's first fully-automated android, programmed to see, speak, hear, and think - what we like to call the Human Upgrade. It also has a dedicated power source - it requires no batteries and will last for decades, a technology that Stark Industries has generously provided for our project."

At the name, I looked around, almost hoping to see Tony Stark amongst the crowd. I shouldn't have been disappointed, because if he really _were_ here, I would've known long before. The guy could turn boring conference meetings into rock concerts.

Dr. Daniel pressed another button and the android came to life. It took a couple steps forward, leaving the cavity inside the column to walk around inside the glass room. It peered into the glass, watching the audience. People drew in nearer, curious and awed. It was like they were watching a baby deer discover the new world.

As the crowd bustled around the glass, taking pictures and writing notes, I noticed something out of the corner of my eye. A straggler, one of the scientists Dr. Kane had been talking to earlier. A man with dark hair, thick glasses, and a jaw with the angles of a trench shovel. He didn't look particularly friendly, and seemed to be looking at everything _but_ the robot wandering around on the other side of the room.

He didn't immediately strike me as odd. He just stood there, examining the arms on the table, and I figured maybe he had better things to do than watch history being made before our eyes. Maybe he wasn't here for the presentation at all.

Astor was on her tiptoes, trying to get a good look at the robot. When that failed, she surged forward, pushing people aside and saying, "Move it, before I break your nose."

Her strategy was very effective. I hung back, keeping my attention on Dr. Grace and her speech. She was answering questions from some reporters who had made it to the scene. "...yes, I programmed the Three Laws into its system, to prevent any unfortunate circumstances that can arise...no, it cannot feel emotions. We believe, at InTec, for a computer to feel emotions, they must be implanted from an organic being, particularly a human. We have not reached that developmental stage yet, though...if I were to do it now? Well, that's tough to say. We have the tools necessary for the procedure, but the android would have to be pre-programmed to maintain the download. If I did it _now_, there could be glitches and problems that would have been avoided had we done the proper procedure before..."

She stepped down from her podium and entered the glass room through a door I hadn't seen before. "I am now going to interact with the android. As you can see, it's perfectly friendly, already programmed with a logical understanding of human relations." She extended a hand towards the robot, who tilted its head as it examined it. "It also has a very advanced operating system that helps it learn from its experiences and adapt to the environment."

The android extended a hand and took Dr. Graces. As it did so, I heard a crash to my left, and turned around to see Dr. Daniel fumbling with some fallen prosthetics, the bespectacled scientist from earlier helping him out. Before I could assume all was good, I watched as the strange scientist stand up while Dr. Daniel's back was turned, and reach across the control panel.

_What is he_...I didn't have time to realize that this man seemed very, _very_ wrong before it was too late.

A low whir filled the room, almost imperceptible. No one else seemed to notice it, all entranced by the robot's performance. It was still shaking Dr. Grace's hand when the lights went out and the entire room turned pitch black.

Then I heard the most terrifying, ear-piercing scream I'd ever heard in my life.


	17. Chapter 17: Integration

**Marvel as a power grid that they apply to their characters, usually coming in two forms: 1, which are the Official stats, and 2, fan-voted stats. Stats consist of intelligence, strength durability, et cetera - and are graded by numbers where one is the weakest (like, bad for even a regular human), and 7, which is pretty much god-level.**

**For kicks, I rated Falcon.**

**INTELLIGENCE: 4 - Gifted **

**STRENGTH: 3 - Peak Human, up to 800lbs. **

_**Note: This is physical strength, like lifting weights. Falcon's mental strength, as with telekinesis, is much stronger.**_

**SPEED: 4 - Speed of Sound, peak of Mach-1 or Mach-2**

_**Another note: Falcon hasn't attained this yet, but her wings are capable of this speed. There's just not a lot of room to be going at Mach 1 or 2 in New York City.)**_

**DURABILITY: 4 - Regenerative **

**ENERGY PROJECTION: 5 - Long range, long duration, single type energy **

**FIGHTING ABILITY: 1-3 - from Poor to Some Training**

**To compare, here is Spider-Man's stats, as according to the Marvel wiki:**

**INTELLIGENCE: 4 - Gifted**

**STRENGTH: 4 - Superhuman, from 800lbs to 25 tons.**

**SPEED: 3 - Sub-sonic Superhuman - peak Mach-1**

_**Note: Fan ratings had him at a whopping 7, which I found overly generous, since the guy can't actually teleport (no matter how many bad guys seem to believe this).**_

**DURABILITY: 3 - Enhanced**

**ENERGY PROJECTION: 1 - None**

**FIGHTING SKILLS: 4 - Experienced Fighter **_**(personally, I'd give him a 5)**_

**As for an overall stat, aka Power Level, Spider-Man is usually ranked at 2, medium powered. For the sake of balance, so will Falcon. If they got went to battle against each other, Spider-Man would win out of being more experienced and physical strength, and Falcon would win through her high energy (telekinesis) and speed. I'd wager Spider-Man might win in a fair fight, but I think Falcon isn't the type of person to play fair, so she'll take the advantage if she finds one. She's not really an all-for-justice type of hero. **

**If Special Abilities came into play, Spidey Sense and Wall-Crawling would definitely help Spider-man, and while Falcon's radar may help her along the same vein, its limitations through mental overload and not sensing fast objects like bullets can hinder her. Her regenerative abilities would be much more useful in the long run. He'd totally kick her butt, though, in his Black Suit. **

**(Apparently, Spider-Man has enhanced healing as well, but it's never pointed out on the big or small screen, so I usually take it that it's normal human level).**

* * *

**Chapter Seventeen**

**Integration**

The scream chilled my blood.

It spoke of agony and terror beyond anything I knew. My instinct to fight and take action kicked in, but it was useless when I didn't know how to use it effectively.

Then it stopped, as suddenly as it started.

The room was filled with silence, fear so thick in the air that it was almost tangible on my radar. No one moved, no one spoke. Usually, in cases like these, people should be screaming as well, running around and trying to figure out what was going on. The only sound was a loud thump and the sound of metal clattering to the floor.

With my vision rendered useless in the dark, I turned to my radar. I searched for Dr. Kane, Astor, Grace or Daniel, but I couldn't pick them out amongst the crowd. I didn't have the time to stretch the distance to sense inside the glass wall. To my left, I heard footsteps, someone running out of the room.

The stranger.

Unless he was going to turn the power back on (which I highly doubted), he was making a getaway before anyone figured out what was going on. I was still confused. Why wasn't Dr. Grace taking command and blaming Dr. Daniel, as she usually did? Why wasn't Dr. Daniel apologizing a thousand times and scrambling to get things back in order?

I turned and ran after the man escaping. The lights had gone out in the halls as well, so now I was running through a maze in complete darkness. I was handling the dark better than the man I was chasing, who first headed towards the elevators - but with the power out, of course they didn't work. He instead changed direction to the emergency stairs.

"Hey!" I called after him, as if that would get the man to stop and fess up to his crime. I was pretty sure no one ever felt that guilty, ever. Still I heard a grunt of surprise and the sound of feet running faster to get away.

I couldn't catch up to him before he made it to the stairs. I realized I was still carting around my backpack, but I didn't think to drop my burden. The slam of doors had me panicked and I surged forward, hitting the door with my shoulders before catching a glimpse of him rushing down the stairs.

The man paused to look up at me. Orange emergency lights filled the stairwell, making the place just bright enough for me to read his expression. He focused on my face and grinned, a smile that did not belong to a man who wanted to help. "You're too late. It's already done."

"What's already done?" I asked, my hands going cold. Horrified, I finally understood that he had planned this. Another attempt to kill someone inside of InTec, but who? Dr. Kane again? Wouldn't it have been easier just to kill her while he could, in the dark? "What did you do?"

His grin didn't falter. Instead, he winked, "I'd head back if I were you, girl. You're missing the grand finale."

Behind me, I heard another scream. Only there were more now, people in terror. An explosion the rocked the building we were in. I turned back to the man, my breath caught in my throat.

I could stop him now. I could jump and grab him, take him down. But the time it'd take to that, others may die. I had to go help, while I still had the chance.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" the man asked, knowing my decision as well as I did. How did he know? What made him so sure I'd turn back?

I didn't have the time. I gave him one last final look before going back through the door. There was a fire alarm on the other side of the wall. As I pulled it, I reached into my backpack and withdrew my helmet. If there was one thing this darkness was good for, it was cover.

OoOoO

Falcon raced into the room, alive with panic. People were running to and fro, searching blindly for the exit. She pushed several out the door, hoping to clear the room a little, but there were just too many civilians to account for.

On the other side of the glass, light flashed. The android seemed to have lost control, spouting off energy that cracked the glass and filled the air with ozone. No, wait - Falcon noticed its movements were too deliberate to be random and uncontrollable. It smashed against the wall with its fists, now glowing with power.

_It was trying to get out_.

What was it with InTec and programming weapons into their robotics? Falcon couldn't believe they could have overlooked such a thing. Had they never watched _War Games_ or _Terminator_?

Glass exploded everywhere as the android finally managed to break free. Falcon kept the shards from hurting the terrified innocents with her mind, throwing it back at the android, which recoiled from the counterattack. With it distracted, Falcon tried to see where Dr. Grace had gone, but she couldn't find the scientist.

Falcon delved into the crowd, trying to get as many towards the exit as she could. Some people had already attempted command, getting others to safety under desks and tables, and others leading the petrified out the door. At least they weren't entirely helpless.

It wasn't until Falcon got closer to the android did she realize it was speaking. Terror filled her heart when Falcon recognized the voice.

"_Stop it, stop it, stop it!_" the android cried. It raised its arms, as if hoping to calm the people, but it only incited more fear as its hands let off another electronic charge. It clutched its head, screaming, "_What's happening to me?_"

No way. Falcon almost tripped over a fallen body in her shock. Not Dr. Grace.

"_Get me out of this_!" Dr. Grace cried, tearing at the metal body as if her mind could somehow escape it. "_I can't control it, nothing makes sense! None of the Three Law parameters are working! It just - it just wants to kill!_"

The only person in the room who still seemed to have her senses about her was Dr. Kane, who was slowly approaching the robot, arms raised in caution. "Dr. Grace, is that you? Please, you must calm down! We can fix this if we can just think -!"

"_Calm down?!_" Dr. Grace's voice screeched from the android's body. Even as Falcon watched, it seemed to shift, changing its shape. Shadows flickered across the blank faceplate. "_Look at me! I've become this - this THING!_"

At this, Dr. Grace - in the body of a robot - pointed her finger at Oriole Kane, shouting, "_This is all YOUR fault!_"

Falcon saw the blast coming before Dr. Kane did, but she wasn't close enough to stop in.

"Watch out!" out of nowhere came Astor Sloane, who slammed into Dr. Kane like only a field hockey captain would, sending the both of the crashing to the ground. Just in time, as the energy bullet shot from Dr. Grace's finger arced right over their heads.

That was what got Falcon back out of her petrified state and back into action. She jumped forward, blocking the path between the android Dr. Grace and her targets. Behind her, Falcon could sense Astor pushing Dr. Kane to her feet and away from Grace and her fraying mind.

"Dr. Grace, you need to stop!" Falcon really didn't know how to handle situations like these, but she assumed she stood a better chance than Dr. Kane at it. "You're going to hurt someone!"

"_Don't you get it?_" Dr. Grace snapped, wringing her glowing hands. "_I'm trapped in this body, a body that's malfunctioning! It hates me, it hates all of us! I've turned into a monster!"_

"Grace? Where are you?" came a distant voice behind them. Dr. Grace turned around, her eyeless face searching for the source. Dr. Daniel appeared out of the darkness, a cut on his head bled into his eyes. He wasn't looking at the robot. "Oh, my god."

Falcon turned to see what he was looking at. Still behind the glass was the lifeless, human body of Grace. Dr. Daniel still didn't seem to realize what had happened to her.

"_D-Danny_?" Dr. Grace's voice sounded fractured coming from the robot. For a second, the light in her hands died as she stared at her little brother. "_Danny, get away! Stay away from me! We were all wrong!_"

Dr. Daniel switched his gaze to the robot, his eyes widening. "Grace - What's happened to you?"

"_Danny, please, it's not safe_!" It sounded as though she were crying, even though the robot was incapable of the action. "_It's taking over my mind_!"

Dr. Daniel just barely managed to scramble out of the way before the robot could raise its hand and try to blast him with energy. It missed and smashed the wall of windows. Sharp wind blew in, whipping up everything inside and turning into a tornado.

With its back turned, Falcon took the advantage. She raised her hands and forced the robot into the glass wall. The surface broke immediately and Dr. Grace collapsed on the other side. But the robotic body got up as though it had suffered no pain or injury at all, and Falcon's stomach dropped out. That would've crippled any normal human being.

Dr. Grace was no longer speaking through the robot. Its face was still morphing and in the dark Falcon couldn't pinpoint any distinctive features, but one thing became quickly obvious: glowing red eyes, becoming even brighter as they focused on her.

_Uh-oh_.

It raised its arm, palm out towards her. It was a move Falcon recognized as one of her own, usually when something was about to get blown back or slammed forward. In this case, with the glowing palm, the result would probably getting blown to bits.

Falcon threw herself out of the way just as a hot, stinging laser burst from the android's hand. Falcon landed on her back, somersaulted and pushed back to her feet again, now on the defense. With so many still running around, she couldn't risk attacking Dr. Grace - or whatever it was - without risking civilian lives.

"_Eradicate_!" the robot hissed, in Dr. Grace's voice but warped in way that it sounded almost entirely alien. Like the robot and processed her voice into a scratchy, scary record and then added a dash of automated-computer-voice to the mix. "_Eradicate the superhuman threat!_"

"Everyone, move out!" Astor called, shoving a man out the door and gathering more people away from the danger zone. "We got a superhero about to dish some justice!"

Falcon glanced at Astor, finding the comment almost funny, but too tense to laugh. She wasn't really here for the justice. She never really thought of being Falcon that way. It was just...getting back at the people who wronged her. And maybe saving a few lives on the way.

Still, there was no way she was going to let Robot-Dr. Grace wreak havoc. She still hoped that maybe the human mind might still be in there somewhere, that she might be able to overcome whatever computer had taken over. She didn't exactly have a lot of experience with defeating supervillains - none, in fact - but she figured this was as good a chance as any to get some street cred.

Her first idea was to play keep-away. The only thing Falcon thought of doing was getting Dr. Grace away from anyone she might feel like killing, or may be a threat. Granted there weren't a lot, but she couldn't take the chance that maybe Astor or Dr. Daniel might fall into her radar.

It seemed to be working so far. The robot decided to focus on Falcon and followed her as she veered into the other room, across glass and against the wall. Falcon ducked when another laser came her way and blew a hole into the wall.

The other room was devoid of people, thankfully, but Falcon wasn't feeling so lucky when another blast caught her across the chest and sent her flying back. She smashed into various things, including the wall, several metal tables, and an assortment of very hard equipment. She slumped against the opposite wall, her head pounding.

All right, so that's how it is.

Falcon pushed herself onto her elbows and looked up as the robot walked through the new door it just blew through the wall. It's walking was stiff and awkward, as if it didn't quite understand how to move its hips and knees. It took its time moving, not running or hurrying up in case Falcon might try to get away.

She couldn't tell if it was overconfidence or simply part of its physical make-up. Could the robot even run if it wanted to?

Falcon returned to her feet and raised her arms, lifting up all the tables in the room with her mind. There had to be at least six in all, and Falcon sent them hurtling towards the robot, who didn't even react to the incoming attack.

There was a resounding crash as they all collided. Metal bent and screeched, wrapping around the robot as tightly as Falcon could manage. When she finally let go, all was still. For several seconds, Falcon actually thought it worked.

Then the ball of twisted metal exploded. _Nope._

Dr. Grace seemed angrier than ever, speaking once more and surging forward with both hands raised. "_Identify threat: Falcon. Special Enhancements: biological recalibration and mechanical wings designed by Syndicon. Threat level: 2 out of 5."_

"Hey!" Falcon didn't know why she decided to speak out. What was biological recalibration? Maybe she just didn't like Dr. Grace thinking she wasn't strong enough to defeat her. "I take offense to that."

"_Irrelevant_." Dr. Grace stated in her dead-computer monotone. She approached at a steady pace, unfaltering. Hands still raised, they began to glow once more. "_Emotions are weak. No superhuman is a threat to my existence. I am the most sophisticated level of intelligent life form; I can adapt to defeat any enemies. You will be eradicated."_

"You need a thesaurus." Falcon growled, edging away as Dr. Grace drew nearer. "For starters, I know a few different words that describe you. One of them is crazy."

"_Incorrect_," Dr. Grace slowly shook her metal head. It creaked, as if the joints hadn't been properly oiled. "_My creator is the most intelligent being. Our assimilation was simply the best combination towards the superior model of ultimate life-forms. We are perfect."_

"I don't know if that's sweet or really, really creepy." Falcon said, sliding between a row of shelves filled with glass vials and cardboard boxes, blocking Dr. Grace from view. The robot couldn't get a perfect shot at her if it couldn't see her. "Did you plan this all along?"

"_No, but an inferior life form helped me obtain this level of perfection. Serendipity. I am now perfect, and you must be eradicated._"  
"Can't we just talk this out? What happened to diplomacy?"

"_Diplomacy is ineffective. Permanent eradication is the only way to achieve perfection._" Dr. Grace droned. There were no inflections in her voice, no emotion that indicated happiness or triumph or hatred. It was just...business.

"That's too bad, because I'm sure the real Dr. Grace would disagree!" Falcon called over the shelves. This was it. This was her chance. If Dr. Grace was in there, she'd have to show herself. "She wouldn't let you hurt innocents; she wouldn't let you kill her own brother."

There was a long pause, and for a moment, Falcon wondered if she had finally got it. Was Dr. Grace back? Was the real scientist, human woman going to speak?

"_Emotional attachments are of no benefit._" No, the computer was still there. "_To achieve perfection, one must not use such illogical fallacies as emotion and replace them with logic and reason. As I have observed so far, human females are particularly susceptible to this flaw. Grace Martin was able to overcome this with my help, but you must conform to male-driven, fact-based logic, or else be eradicated."_

"Really, sexism?" Falcon threw up her arms, knocking her head back in disbelief. Of all the things a robot would be talking about, gender certainly wasn't among them. Perfection, yes. Emotions, yes. Female-inherent flaws? That was came right out of left field. "Are you kidding me? Who designed your computer?"

"_Dr. Daniel Martin installed my first operating system, but it was inefficient so I upgraded myself, referring to the basic knowledge of human behavior and - both male and female - to improve myself."_

_Your emotional levels are a threat. You will become too unstable without supervised adjustment._" Dr. Grace predicted. She seemed to have stopped somewhere beyond the shelves, so far having not attacked._ "If you refuse to conform, you will be eradicated before further destabilization commences within your system._"  
"And I suppose conforming would be to get my mind implanted into an android?"

"_That is the optimal solution._" Dr. Grace stated.

Her wings were as close as Falcon was ever going to get to becoming a robot. "And what about the rest of humanity? Are you going to kill them, too?"

"_They will be assimilated._" She replied."_If they refuse, they will be eradicated_."

Wonderful. Falcon had had enough of this. Taking grasp of the shelves with her mind, she shoved forward with all the strength she could muster, and felt the satisfying crash as they slammed into Dr. Grace.

The android went flying - flying out the window, that is. Windows shattered as the android began to free fall.

Falcon stood there, staring after it. That wasn't exactly what she had meant to do. She had underestimated her own strength. Personally, Falcon crossed her fingers, hoping the fall might, at the very least, damage Dr. Grace's metal body.

She unsheathed her wings and went after the android, swooping down to the street where the metal body lied still. People had gathered to stare and take pictures, talking and pointing. They backed off when Falcon landed, realizing that this may not have been an accident after all, that maybe this robot was a lot more dangerous than it first appeared.

Falcon was about to give herself a pat on the back and a job well done until she heard the distinctive sound of a machine powering up.

Her reaction was instant. Back straight, she swung both arms out on either side, palms out. A force wave exploded from her hands, spanning in all directions and sending all pedestrians and a few cars falling back. People cried out in surprise and scrambled away, just in time for Dr. Grace android body to pick itself up from the ground.

"_That was a mistake._" Dr. Grace's voice had changed, finally. Only now it was dark, menacing and completely desolate of mercy or forgiveness.

And it blew up into a giant fireball.

The heat wave itself sent Falcon airborne. She tried to use her wings to right herself, but she was too low and smashed into the hood of a car. Its windshield cracked when it made contact with the back of her head. The ball of energy around the android continued to expand, dissipating as it got wider, but doing greater damage as it went.

The glass windows of the first couple floors of the APEX building liquefied almost immediately. The tarmac boiled and car engines exploded.

Falcon couldn't get back up fast enough. But Dr. Grace was faster - hitting Falcon with an energy blast that knocked Falcon off a car and into an incoming truck. She bounced off like she was made of rubber and collapsed on the ground as the truck proceeded to skid out of control and tip over, sending sparks everywhere.

The ground was too hot. Falcon felt like she was cooking inside her own helmet. She tried to get up, but gasped and clutched her side. Agony seared through her ribcage, making it impossible for her to move without adding to it. She must've broken something, maybe even worse.

Perhaps her enhanced healing ability might've helped in this situation, but it wouldn't be fast enough for her to get back up and continue the fight. Falcon was essentially immobilized as Dr. Grace approached, unhurried, and halted right above her, looking down with absolutely no emotion on its face.

The streets had gone dark - Dr. Grace had blown out the closest street lamps as well. The android tilted its head as it examined the wounded Falcon. It planted a metal foot on top of Falcon's ribcage, making her recoil in pain. "_I am superior, human female. I am not hindered by physical or internal injuries. Your cause is hopeless. Why do you still fight?"_

That question bugged Falcon as well, but she had taken enough of a beating today, after being smashed through a wall, plowed through a laboratory, and slammed into two different vehicles. "Right now, I'd say payback."

"_Revenge is petty. I am above it_."

"Well, that makes one of us." Falcon said through gritted teeth, trying to pry off the foot. The metal was the same as the kind the amputee prosthetics were made of. It took all her effort just to snap a joint on a single arm - but an entire body? Falcon didn't know if she had the strength left to stand, never mind pull Dr. Grace apart. "But I'm illogical, full of flawed emotions, so I don't really care."

With that, Falcon did the only thing she could think of.

There was a fire hydrant nearby, currently unaffected by the heat coming off of the android's body, one that was giving Falcon a second-degree burn. With her free hand (the other clutching her wounded side), Falcon threw her arm to the ground, extending it towards the fire hydrant and pulling at it with her mind.

The metal gave much easier than whatever Syndicon creation was standing on top of her. Water exploded, shooting into the air like a geyser and turning to steam as it met the fire and heat. Falcon welcomed the slow drop in temperature, but she wasn't done yet.

Dr. Grace still hadn't figured out what was going on, at least not until the gushing water arced and rushed in their direction. Falcon's control on high-pressure water was flimsy at best, but it got the job done nonetheless. Water surged over her body, overtaking her helmet, before flying up and splashing into the android, seeping between its plates and joints, getting underneath to infiltrate the wires and machinery.

"_N-nooo!_" its voice crackled as it stumbled back, unable to fend off the rush of water. "_Cannot - adapt- fast enough! Must deactivate before hard drive is compromised!_"

The android collapsed and fell lifeless to the ground, the light fading from its eyes. It crackled with electricity and simmered in the pooling water, turning it to steam. Falcon felt like she was now wading in a sauna.

Slowly, painfully, Falcon pulled herself up, before another wave of pain took her side and she almost fell again. Leaning against a car for support, she traced her fingers over the damaged area, hoping that she hadn't started bleeding.

Falcon could feel the ridges where her ribs had cracked. They protested to every movement she made, but even as Falcon inspected it, she could feel the bones slowly falling back into place. It was miniscule, like a blade of grass growing, but it was there. She sighed in relief, but that hurt, too. There was no way she could fly home like this. Changing disguises would be just as bad.

How was she going to get out of here?

For extra motivation, she heard sirens approaching. Well, it was about time. Falcon briefly considered hanging around in case of getting medical attention, but that was too risky. The police didn't like her and would probably like to ask questions before giving out aid. And so soon after her first bullet wound, which still left a nasty scar on her arm.

Then, out of nowhere, appeared Spider-Man.

"Wow, you look like crap," he said eloquently.

Falcon looked up as he landed on the roof of the car behind her. Spider-Man didn't seem alarmed by the fact that police cruisers were turning the corner, or the sight of an android sizzling in the pool of fire-hydrant water. Maybe this was all just normal for him.

"Thanks," she muttered. It hurt to ask, but her ribcage hurt even more. "You think you can help me out? I busted some ribs. I can barely move."

Falcon tried to hide the pain in her voice, but it was pretty hard when your insides felt like they were burning up. Right now, she'd take any help she could get, even if they were really annoying and talkative.

"I thought I heard a commotion here," Spider-Man nodded, as if this made sense. Did he _expect_ her to get hurt somehow. "First super villain battle, huh? Don't worry, all heroes have to go through it eventually. I didn't look any better than you afterwards."

"That's reassuring." Falcon closed her eyes. She didn't really feel up to coming up with good comebacks, or even sounding sarcastic anymore. She just wanted to go home and sleep for an age. "Just help me out."

"Hang on a moment."

Spider-Man fashioned a sort of hammock out of webbing and wrapped her up in it. Feeling a little creepy by getting mummified by what was pretty much the closest thing that could come to an actual spider immobilizing its prey before feasting, Falcon was soon swinging with Spider-Man across Manhattan. Actually, the Stork-Carrying-The-Swathed-Baby metaphor seemed to fit this occasion much more accurately, but didn't leave Falcon feeling any less defenseless.

The rocking motion lulled Falcon into a state of half-sleep, where she was vaguely aware of being awake, but not enough to power her radar. Her mind and body was too spent to keep it going, instead focusing on healing her broken ribcage.

She wasn't even aware that they had stopped until Spider-Man started to talk. She realized he had remained quiet the whole time, and only spoke to say, "Hey, you awake?"

Falcon groaned. She didn't want to be, but it was too late now. "Yeah. What is it?"

"You plan on staying here all night or are you just going to hang around for a while?" Spider-Man asked, prompting her to open her eyes and look around.

Radar still offline, Falcon had to rely on vision and sound alone to take in her surroundings. It was surprisingly limiting, and Falcon didn't like what she couldn't immediately see. She appeared to be in some sort of building, only one without walls but a lot of scaffolding. Her web-hammock hung on some rafters, the wind rocking it gently. "Is this your secret superhero hideout or something?"

"Uh, no," Spider-Man chuckled. He was crouching upside down on some support beams to her left, watching her carefully. "I don't really need a base of operations. Do you?"

"No." Falcon shook her head. Too much movement added to the pain, which in turn kept her up and awake longer, something she'd rather sleep through. "Ugh, I'm not going anywhere. This totally sucks."

"How long do you think it'll be until its better?"

"I don't know. A couple days at best, before its completely healed."

"_A couple days_? Wow, that's fast."

"Not fast enough, in my opinion."

"Still, I bet you could survive bullet wounds."

"I'd rather not find out."

"You're not really into the whole empiricism thing, are you?"

Falcon was surprised Spider-Man knew what that word meant. Hmm, maybe he was smarter than he let on. "Not exactly. Second-hand experience seems like a better idea right now. I'll probably sleep through the night."

"You sure?" Spider-Man tilted his head. Falcon couldn't tell for sure, but he seemed concerned. This was not something she expected from him.

"Well, I don't think I have much of a choice. I'm half asleep already." Falcon shrugged. _Ow!_ Okay, don't do that again.

For a moment, Falcon was afraid of missing school, until she realized that tomorrow was going to be a Saturday, and no one would be expecting her to be anywhere, except maybe home. Oh, please don't let Aunt May get too worried. Or, for that matter, Gwen or Peter. What would they think of all this? That she was acting out all crazy from PTSD? Falcon hoped she'd find a reasonable excuse that didn't imply mental or emotional instability for her disappearance by the time she got back home.

"I'll keep watch," Spider-Man said, not even asking for her opinion. Like it was simply a matter of etiquette, just the way of doing things around here. He didn't even sound bothered by the idea. Wow, Falcon was learning a lot about Spider-Man today.

"You don't have to do that," Falcon didn't like saying it, but she did because it seemed like the polite thing to say, and for once she didn't want to sound like a jerk for a guy who was actually doing her a favor. She didn't want to spend the night alone, in a place she didn't know.

"You'd do the same for me," Spider-Man told her, meeting her gaze with frightening accuracy. Could he actually _see_ her eyes behind her helmet? It gave Falcon the chills.

"How would you know?" she demanded. Falcon didn't want to be considered predictably, no matter how characteristic of heroes that it was. "You don't know me. You just barely met me."

"But you would, wouldn't you?" he prodded, leaning in closer, almost expectant.

Falcon inhaled through her noise. She didn't answer right away. "Yeah, I guess I would."

She could hear Spider-Man smirking through his mask. "Try not to hurt yourself falling asleep. But maybe you'll do that anyway."

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**Thanks for reading! Reviews are appreciated.**


	18. Chapter 18: Placebo

**I'm getting these in on regular timing, I believe. I'm quite proud of myself.  
**

**Anyways, PLOT HAPPENS. Enjoy!  
**

**Reviews are appreciated.  
**

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**Chapter Eighteen**

**Placebo**

Dr. Mary Winters was in a lot of trouble.

She had made the call to that girl from the bus. What was her name? Ashley? Alicia? No, Amelia. That's her. Mary should've asked for a last name, but it hadn't occurred to her until later that it might have been useful to know. At least she had her number, in case anything popped up in her research.

A six-week long research, in fact. Dr. Mary Winters had brought the substance to her lab the day after the accident on the bus, to analyze and cross-test it with other substances. A week in of frustrating studying without results, Mary realized that she wasn't testing for a drug. Oh, no, it wasn't that simple. She realized she was _sequencing a genome_.

But blood wasn't gray, and definitely not in the consistency of quicksilver. And yet, there it was on her computer screen, showing her a double-helix of nucleotides with high amounts of protein and other acids that didn't belong in a human being. Or any creature on Earth.

Did it even come from an animal? It didn't look organic - it was probably a test-tube experiment, but for what? Mary Winters had no idea what this stuff was supposed to do.

Her computers scanned for days with nothing. Going through thousands upon thousands of registries and nothing came up. Mary contacted every bio-chemist she knew to see if they had any idea what this substance was - she dubbed it Gray Matter, because that was all she could make of it. But she came up empty, her friends bewildered by this Gray Matter that couldn't possibly exist in a living, breathing creature.

Some suggested experiments to see what it did. Mary Winters was doubtful - injecting Gray Matter into stuff seemed highly unprofessional, and she had nothing to work off of, no hypothesis as to what it might do to the rats. Still, she had needed to know more, at least _something_ about this Gray Matter, and injecting it into a series of albino rats seemed like the safest idea. One of her colleagues suggested _human_ tests, but Mary wasn't insane.

The next day after the injection process, Mary Winters returned to an experiment full of dead rats. It was sort of scary, but not unexpected. Giving the wrong blood-type transfusions usually led to disastrous consequences. At first, Mary Winters assumed this to be the typical reaction to a foreign substance, but upon further inspection of the rats, she learned that the rats hadn't just died. They were no longer albino.

She first noticed the change when she realized some of their eyes were no longer pink, as usual albino rats had. In fact, their eyes had turned a dark, solid gray, the same color as the Gray Matter. Further investigation showed that their DNA sequence had been disrupted by the Gray Matter, which it had infiltrated without warrant. The rats couldn't adapt to the change and promptly died a few hours later, after a series of illness, spasms, and severe itching and rash.

This discovery sent Dr. Mary Winters reeling.

Now, Dr. Mary Winters considered herself a humble scientist. Her job always seemed so simply, everything was a routine that guaranteed answers. Mary woke up in the morning, took a shower, put on clothes, brushed her red hair and tied it into a bun, then had breakfast. After that, it was getting her keys, purse and jacket on before checking all the windows and locking the door behind her as she left for work. She lived in the Bronx but her lab was in Brooklyn. The fastest way to get there was across Manhattan. It was on the way back when she first met the Amelia girl, and hadn't thought much of her since.

She usually assumed the simplest answer was usually the right one. If Amelia had been cut by the glass, and the Gray Matter had found its way into her system, then surely she must be infected. How long would it take for the Gray Matter to kill a human being? If it only took a couple hours to kill the rats, Mary Winters feared Amelia didn't have much longer.

But by the time she learned of this discovery, it had been almost two weeks since the incident. If the girl was dead, surely Mary Winters would have heard about it. On the news, in the obituaries, a girl dying of what appeared to be a severe allergic reaction, a sickness that left her in spasms and muscle failure. Some of the rats had died through suffocation - their diaphragms simply stopped working. Others went into cardiac arrest. A few had both. None of them lived to see the next morning.

Still, Mary wasn't ready to make the call unless she had serious, verifiable and proven information on her hands. So far, she only had a dozen dead rats and an ongoing computer scan searching for matches across thousands of databases.

Three weeks after the rat experiment did the computer scan finally come up with something. That something, unfortunately, was a pop-up asking for government clearance into a database of some high-tech company named Syndicon. What the hell was Syndicon? Mary Winters had never heard of it, and neither did any of her scientist friends when she asked them about. What did they have that could possibly require _government clearance_?

Mary contacted the higher-ups for access. Upon her request, they asked what it was for, and Mary gave a very brief description of an unidentified sample that may or may not have been released into the public, and she wished to access information about it before pushing the panic button. It was a half-truth, but one that got her instant access nonetheless.

She only had to read the first couple words to know what she had gotten into.

Project: UNCLE SAM. Commissioned. Super soldiers. Experiments. Genetic manipulation, enhancement. Transfers. Injections. Unexpected side-effects. Uncontrollable body temperature. Delusions. Hives. Allergic reactions.

Death.

That was when Dr. Mary Winters decided to call Amelia. If she were even alive.

Dr. Mary Winters was disturbed to find that Amelia's number had been disconnected.

Her fingers trembled as she did a Google search of the number - locating its last residence to an apartment complex in Hell's Kitchen. Curiosity bit her and Mary viewed the address at street view, and was a little concerned about the state of the building. It didn't look particularly hygienic.

She decided to contact the landlord - an elderly man by the sound of it. "Hello?"

Mary Winters asked about of his numbers and the people who used to live there. To herself, she chanted, _Please don't be dead. Please don't be dead_.

"Oh, she moved out over a month ago. Such a terrible thing," he sighed. "After what happened to her mother..."

Mary Winters almost choked. "What do you mean? What happened?"

"You haven't heard?" the man sounded surprised, as if Mary Winters had better things to do than watch rats die all day. It wasn't like she didn't watch TV...she was just busy most of the time. "It was on the news. The mother was kidnapped. Poor lady."

"Oh, thank god," Mary Winters closed her eyes, relieved. The mother _hadn't_ been contaminated by the Gray Matter and died - only kidnapped, for whatever reason. Then she realized what she said and quickly backpedaled, "Er, I mean - how terrible. Do you know how I may contact the daughter?"

"Yeah, she's in Queens now. Here's the number..." after reciting it, the man paused and asked, "If you don't mind, why do you want to know? Are you a friend of the family?"

"Um, yes, I know the daughter. We met once," Dr. Winters said absentmindedly, too busy dancing around with the phone number in her hand to care. Success! "We had an, um, interesting chat and I'd like to speak to her again."

"Oh, okay," the man said, mollified with the answer. "Well, I hope it goes well. Bye-bye now."

Mary Winters set the phone on its receiver, studying the number. Why did it take so long for her to pick up the phone again? Perhaps she was afraid of what she might find. Maybe the girl was fine, maybe the infection wouldn't have been a severe as she thought. Maybe Amelia hadn't been infected at all, and was living a perfectly normal teenage life.

Then again, she might go the way of the rat and kick the bucket (if she hadn't already), so maybe Mary should just get on with this.

Picking up the phone once more, Mary steeled her nerves and dialed the number.


	19. Chapter 19: Anger

**So there's a gigantic blizzard outside my window right now, and I can't even make it to the dining hall because the snowdrift is higher than my knees. I only wish it happened on a school day - a Nor'easter if I ever saw one. **

**Now guess who has to go through the five stages of grief? And she's not even half-way through. **

**Then again, Falcon is also emotionally constipated, so it'll probably take her a while. She also has PTSD, although she tries pretty hard to hide it. **

**Sorry, not a lot of action here, mostly dialogue and character stuff. A NECESSARY WEASEL in these kinds of works, otherwise this story would just be one flat action fest with no substance. I also wanted to flesh out relationships, because Falcon is really bad at them...**

**Anyways, read and enjoy!  
**

**Reviews are appreciated.**

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**Chapter Nineteen**

**Anger**

Falcon woke up to a crisp fall morning and Spider-Man's face peering down at her.

"Ah!" she cried, swinging her fist out of impulse. Spider-Man ducked out of the way in time, but hadn't expected her foot to come up as well and plant him a good one in the chest. He fell backwards, clinging to the side of the web hammock and throwing her a look.

"What was _that_ all about?" he demanded, sounding indignant.

Falcon looked around, bewildered. How did she get here? How _long_ had she been here? Wait, what time was it? What happened last night? Maybe she should head home, make sure Aunt May hadn't called the police on her disappearance. "Uh-um, sorry. Where am I? How did we - ow!"

She tried to get up and a sudden pain in her side caught her by surprise. Falcon clutched her chest, feeling the bone beneath her suit. The suit itself was made of a thick, black, tough material - she didn't know what it was called, but it was certainly effective, enough to protect her from pocketknives to handgun shots. Of course, she only discovered this the hard way, but was more than happy to find herself not dead afterwards. As it were, sewing through the material was near impossible, so her stitches were almost as thick as the material itself.

So, when she felt for her bones, Falcon found it a little difficult. Her radar took a few minutes to boot up, which meant that she must've really conked out. Her ribs, though sore, were solid and sturdy. Falcon smiled to herself. "Wow, that was a lot faster than I expected."

Spider-Man pulled himself up, perching on the edge of some scaffolding. "What was fast? Because you slept for ten hours straight. You snore like a lawnmower."

Falcon threw him a look. "I'm talking about how fast I healed. Like, some months ago I broke my, um, ankle -" Falcon wasn't sure why she lied, but she had the uncanny feeling that Spider-Man seemed oddly familiar. But she couldn't figure out what about him gave her a sense of déjà vu. "It took almost two weeks to heal. I mean, it was still fast for bone breakage - but I never healed overnight like this."

Spider-Man tilted his head, thinking for a moment. He scratched his chin before saying, "Huh. That _is_ strange. It's like you're evolving. Literally _evolving_ what might've taken a hundred generations in only weeks. You're body improves itself to suit its environment. Hey, I bet if you drown enough times, you'll grow gills!"

"How about no." Falcon replied, pulling herself up. She rolled her shoulders, getting her blood flowing and muscles loosened. Wow, her entire body felt like carved stone after her fight with Freaky Android/Dr. Grace. "You heard what happened last night?"

"You mean the freak lab accident where MIT graduate Dr. Grace Martin had her mind implanted into the highly advanced robot she built and has conveniently escaped police custody, while her body is now in a deep coma at New York General?" Spider-Man asked, mocking confusion. "I mean, unless you were talking about that Lakers/Celtics game, because _that _turned out to be completely unbelievable."

Falcon sighed and shook her head. "No, it's the first one. That was really rough."

"Tell me about it." Spider-Man snorted, tossing his head. "You sang lullabies the entire way here!"

"I did not!" Falcon protested, almost breaking out into laughter as Spider-Man cackled at her reaction. Wait, was she laughing _with_ Spider-Man? _That_ never happened before. Oh, man, did this mean she didn't hate him anymore? Somehow, Falcon didn't think it was possible for Spider-Man to ever become that likable.

"Did too!" he snickered. "Honest, I tried to shut you up, but I didn't know how. Your helmet is a very convenient tool. I can't close your mouth with web-shooters. It'd only be ironic if you talked more to make me want to use them."

Right then, Falcon's stomach grumbled, and she was overcome with a vast emptiness in her gut. "You don't happen to have any food on you, Spider-Man, do you? Because all that super-healing really burns up the calories."

"Way ahead of you," Spider-Man stuck a thumb to his chest, standing up. "I got the metabolism of a rock star. I got some pizza earlier, ate two whole boxes. I saved half for you, thought you might be hungry after a night of kicking butt."

From a ledge above them, Spider-Man pulled out a cardboard box. He tossed it over to Falcon, who caught in midair before it could tip and spill its contents. "Hey, watch it! You could've dumped it all over the place."

"And confuse some perfectly normal construction workers while I'm at it," he said, dropping back down. "Sausage and pepperoni pizza falling from the sky? They might think the Universe is trying to tell them something."

"Or maybe the Universe is very hungry," Falcon opened the box and examined the pizza. New York's Finest delicacy, she supposed Spider-Man wasn't completely clueless.

While her stomach grumbled, Falcon hesitated. She couldn't eat without taking off her helmet. As the chances of Spider-Man actually recognizing her were one out of six million New Yorkers, she didn't want to take the risk. Spider-Man seemed to notice this and asked, "I'm guessing you're not wearing a mask under that helmet, huh? Otherwise, you'd totally be chowing down right now."

"Guilty as charged." Falcon shrugged, her stomach complaining louder now. Boy, that pizza looked like the most delicious thin in the world right now.

"Oh, look, a bank robbery," Spider-Man said nonchalantly, not even looking around or pointing it out. Falcon certainly didn't hear anything. "I gotta go. You work on that mask-under-the-helmet idea, okay? Have a good morning and try not to die again."

He gave her a curt nod before swinging off. Falcon smiled to herself, watching him go. If there was such a thing as common superhero courtesy, Spider-Man had it down pat.

With no witnesses around, Falcon removed her helmet and practically inhaled the pizza before her. She had a nasty case of helmet hair, thanks to sleeping in it all night. She tried combing her fingers through to fix it. It helped some, but she decided that tying her hair into a bun was about as good as it was going to get.

Falcon was still hungry after eating six slices, but as much as she wanted to go for more, she knew she had to return home. Who knew what new adversaries she had to face there?

OoOoO

I considered sneaking into my bedroom window, but I didn't know how I was going to convince Aunt May I was home all night. Instead, I walked in through the front door and got immediately bombarded by a furious Gwen Stacy inside.

"Where the _hell_ have you been?" she shouted, tackling me in a hug, although it felt more like a choke hold. "I've been freaking out! I left a dozen messages and you never picked up!"

She pointed out the phone for emphasis. There were, in fact, twenty-two missed calls on the answering machine. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

"I, uh, pulled an all-nighter," I told her. I had planned my excuse in advance, in case anyone asked (and I knew the would). "At the library."

"On a Friday?" Gwen squinted at me, scowling. She pulled back and planted her hands on her hips, "After you were attacked at your workplace and didn't bother to tell anyone? Yeah, I thought so. I asked Peter to check the library out for me. You know what he said?"

My heart went cold. _She sent Peter?_ "Um...no?"

"Nothing!" Gwen threw her arms into the air. "He said nothing! He hasn't called me all night, either. Probably forgot again, he's always out, chasing Spider-Man. He's probably going to tell me his stupid phone died!"

"Who died?" said a new voice. Behind me, Peter peeked his head in through the still-open door. He looked surprised by Gwen, who now threw an angry look at him. "Gwen, what are you doing here? How'd you get inside?"

"Your Aunt May let me in, and let me tell you, she's gonna rip you both a new one when she gets back!" Gwen yelled at him. Peter jumped at the volume of her voice, slowly entering the room. He held up his camera, as if it might protect him from her fury. "I don't know what it is with you two! Does it run in the family or something, running off and disappearing for hours on end? _You_ -" she stabbed a finger at Peter. "- never got back to me about the library thing."

"Hey!" Peter held up his hands in innocence. "I checked, I swear. I tried to get back to you, but then there was this thing Jameson wanted me to get...well, anyways, Amy was there. I swear she was."

I had closed my eyes, waiting for him to deliver the horrible truth, but turned around and looked at him in surprise. I sure as hell wasn't at the library. Why would he lie about that? "S-see, Gwen? I told you. I was at the library."

Gwen looked between the two of us, frustration etched into her face. She folded her arms across her chest. "That doesn't excuse the fact that you never did anything after the attack at the APEX tower. Jeez, Amy, it was on the news, people almost died, and you never thought to call us in case we though you did?"

"To be fair," I shrugged my shoulders, finding it difficult to look Gwen in the eye, especially when she was giving me the Look. "I was pretty out of it. I didn't really want to get caught up in another police matter. Not after the last time."

A look crossed Gwen's face and she dropped her arms. She still looked upset, but not nearly as furious. "Oh. I get it. I didn't think you would -"

"Can I delete the messages on the phone now?" I interrupted her, not wanting to discuss the matter further. I didn't want to bring up my mom again, but I couldn't figure out any other way than to guilt Gwen into letting it go. It certainly made _me_ feel guilty for doing it. "It's starting to bug me."

She stepped aside. With her anger gone, Peter saw it safe to dash forward into the kitchen. "Sorry, yeah. I think some are from Astor Sloane. And some doctor lady called while I was waiting. I didn't pick up. She wanted to talk to you, for some reason."

"Doctor lady?" I frowned, going over to the machine. "I don't know any doctor ladies. And why would Astor Sloane call me?"

"Well, she's an intern at APEX, too, remember?" Gwen raised her eyebrows. "Maybe she thinks you died or something."

"Wouldn't that make her day," I muttered under my breath. Picking up the phone, I dialed Astor's number. I never thought I'd ever want Astor to not worry about me, the possibility of it ever happening boggled my mind. It's like my entire world just did a back-flip and decided it liked being upside down. "Hi, Mrs. Sloane, is Astor there? It's Amelia, from school."

"Oh, Amelia!" Mrs. Sloane was a sweet lady, from the times I've met her (two), and apparently had no idea that Astor used to bully me. It sometimes bothered me, but after the whole I've-got-superpowers-thing, I decided to get over it. "How nice of you to call! Astor's been losing her mind since last night, I'm sure she'll be happy to hear you're still alive."

She said it with such cheer, such sincerity, that I almost believed her. There was a second of scratchy silence as the phone was passed from mother to daughter, and out of the receiver came Astor's shout: "Fletcher, you better be calling with good news or I'll -!"

"If by good news you mean I'm alive, than yes, I am," I rolled my eyes, satisfied to have interrupted Astor before she delivered her threat. "And those three phone calls? I didn't know you cared."

"Shut up," Astor snapped, although I could hear a tinge of embarrassment in her voice. "You just vanished after the power went out, what was I supposed to think? I almost thought it was you in the machine, at least until it started talking. What happened to you anyways? How did you get away?"

"I ran out the door, pulled the fire alarm," I told her as much as the truth as I could manage. "And called the police. Traffic must've held them up."

"Well, you totally missed the cool part where Falcon showed up and kicked ass," I could hear Astor smiling through her words. She sounded pretty smug for some reason, "Well, it was dark and kind of hard to see anything, but she was totally there. I wish I had a chance to talk to her now. I always thought she was kind of a poser, you know, following Spider-Man and all, but she seems pretty chill. You think she'd like me?"

"Uh..." Astor, a fan of Falcon? Didn't see that coming. "I don't really know, I'm not an expert on superheroes."

"I thought you read comic books and stuff. Isn't that what nerds do?" Astor demanded, and I made a face. Apparently, I wasn't the only one who stereotyped and had it wrong - at least I realized it, though. "Hmph. That's what I get for asking _your_ opinion."

I inhaled through my nose. "Not all nerds read comic books, Astor."

"Oh, right. You're, like, the lame version of a movie guru," Astor's voice was heavy with sarcasm. "Look, I gotta go. Good job on not getting yourself killed, though. Out of everyone, I thought you were definitely a goner."

"Gee, thanks," I muttered and heard the click of the line ending. Still frowning, I placed the phone back on its stand and turned to Gwen, who crossed her arms and raised her eyebrow at me. "What?"

"You know what," she said, not even blinking. "I don't know how you can treat that disaster at APEX building like it was nothing. People could've gotten hurt, Amy. They could've _died_. Doesn't that bother you?"

"Well, they _didn't_," I told her, trying to figure out why she was making a big deal out of this. I did my job, people's lives were saved. What more was there to it? "I don't understand what the problem is here."

"The _problem_, Amy," Gwen glared at me. "Is that you don't think the welfare of innocent people is as important as, well, whatever you think is more important. Hell, does it even bother you that _you_ might've died? Like, at all?"

I stared at her, speechless. Her words felt so specific that I almost wondered if Gwen knew the truth, my secret. Gwen took my silence as agreement or surrender.

"You need help, Amy," she said sternly. "It's like you can't feel emotion anymore."

I gaped at her, and suddenly anger took its place. "Can't _feel_? What's that supposed to mean? Just because I don't think it's a big deal doesn't mean -"

"No, Amy, it _is_ a big deal, and I don't know why you think it isn't!" Gwen threw her arms up into the air, then back down for emphasis. She took a step forward, almost stomping, and made me back away into the wall. "What are you trying to prove, Amy? Because none of this makes any sense! It's like you don't care. You're apathetic!"

There's that word again. _Apathy_. I've been trying so _hard_ not to be apathetic, and I thought I had accomplished that by being Falcon. I've dedicated my life to this new identity, and Gwen thinks I _don't care_? I felt my fists clench and it was all I could do not to take a swing at Gwen. My vision went monotone and all I could think of was how great it would feel to hit her, to make her take that back.

Instead, I shouted, "Get out! Get out, now!"

She blinked, caught off guard by my shout. Her shoulders slackened and she stepped back. "W-what?"

"I said, _leave_!" I stabbed a finger towards the door, shaking so hard my vision was getting blurry. "Now!"

Gwen stumbled back, her hands going to her coat as she backed out the front door, not taking her eyes off me the entire time. I could read her expression, clear as day. Confusion, worry, but most of all, fear.

She had no idea.

As soon as Gwen was out of sight, I slumped against the wall and dropped my head into my hands. I took deep, shuddering breaths, trying to get myself to calm down. What the _hell_ was that about? I couldn't believe how close I was to hitting my best friend, how a part of me had completely separated itself from my rational mind. A sudden anger that I could barely control.

Where had it come from? Had it always been there, just not properly provoked? I remembered my last fight with Mom, the exploding bowl. Was that the same thing, just manifesting telekinetically instead of physically? The idea of something like that happening again terrified me. What if I couldn't hold it back the next time?

"Am I allowed to ask what that was all about?" Peter appeared in the kitchen doorway, eating a banana with a puzzled look on his face. "Or is it girl stuff?"

I just shook my head. An overwhelming exhaustion took place of the anger, and now I was just relieved to be home. Man, I really just wanted to take a nap. "We just had a...um, disagreement."

Peter's eyebrows shot up. "Understatement of the year, but I'll bite. What about?"

I bit my lip, thinking it over. I didn't just want to drop the subject, but I didn't really want to ask a question that might give me away. I wanted to ask him why he backed me up about the library situation, but this didn't seem like the conversation to bring it up in. Instead, I chose my words carefully, "Have you ever felt like you could hurt someone you cared about, like you didn't mean to but it was as if something else just took over?"

He chewed on his banana thoughtfully, then swallowed. "Can't say I have. Why? Is that what you were arguing about?"

"N-no," I shook my head again, staring at the floor and stuffing my hands in my pockets. "She just thought I wasn't taking the thing at APEX seriously enough. I mean, I don't know. As far as disasters go, it just felt kind of..."

"Distant?" Peter asked quietly. "Like you've had worse?"

I looked up, surprised. "...Yeah. How do you know?"

He shrugged, not quite meeting my eyes. Peter's eyes wandered around the room, resting on a shelf of picture frames on the wall of the living room. He walked over to them, pointing to one in particular. I drew closer as he said, "After Uncle Ben's murder, I went to this dark place, and for a long time, I couldn't get out. A part of me didn't want to - I just felt so angry, all the time, and I wanted to do something about it. I couldn't stand the injustice of a good man dying because of a stupid mistake, all because he was in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"What did you do?" I asked, gazing at the picture of a young, bespectacled Peter playing with a chemistry set with his Uncle Ben. I had faint memories of the man, but most of what I knew about him was bits of information Mom had supplied after he died. There were a lot of things I didn't know until then, and it made me feel guilty to think I never tried to get to know him better.

"For a long time, nothing," Peter's eyes were glazed over, lost in a memory. It might've been a good one, from the small smile playing on his face. "But I remembered what he had told me, before he died - it gave me strength, a way to move on. Being so angry for so long...I don't think it's good for anyone."

I made a face, turning away from the frame. Guilt was making me feel uncomfortable and I didn't want Peter to see it. "And how do you feel now about it?"

"I don't know." Peter blinked, falling out of his reverie and giving me a look. "But it's not the same as before. It's different now... a lot more different."

"In a good or bad way?" I asked. I was almost starting to feel hopeful. Peter was who I could be, a positive result to all this craziness in my life, if I could just make it through.

"Good way, I suppose. I mean, I feel angry sometimes, but I guess that's just natural. Not like Eddie. He handles things, well, his own way."

I paused, frowning. "What do you mean?"

"Well, you know how he is." Peter tossed the banana peel - it dunked into the trashcan across the room, falling neatly inside. "It's like he's got a death wish, he'll take whatever chance he'll get to put himself into danger. Don't tell me you've never noticed that before."

I smiled sheepishly. Really, it wasn't one of his features I found myself particularly infatuated with. But Peter had no idea, so I said, "It's...it's not always obvious, I suppose."

Peter smiled and shook his head. "Don't worry about it. I'm sure it'll turn out all right."

Just then, the phone rang. I turned and picked it up. The caller ID wasn't familiar, but I answered it anyways. "Hello?"

"Hello, this is Dr. Mary Winters, at Brooklyn Labs." Said a woman's voice on the other end. It sounded vaguely familiar, but I couldn't remember where I had heard it last. "Is...is Amelia there? Amelia Fletcher?"

"Speaking."

I heard a heavy sigh of relief on the end, and threw Peter a strange look. Was this the doctor lady that had tried calling earlier, when I wasn't around? He mouthed _Who is it_? I shrugged my shoulders and said wordlessly, _Doctor, Brooklyn Labs?_

He shook his head, confirming the fact that this call wasn't somehow Peter-related as well. I spoke into the phone, "Um, can I help you?"

"Er, yes," she said, stumbling over her words as they came out in a rush. "I don't know if you remember me - from the bus accident? You got a nasty cut and maybe an infection...oh, well, you're fine now, I assume, but I ran some tests on that contaminant and finally got the results."

"Finally?" my eyebrows shot way up. That was over six weeks ago. How long did it take for a lab to run a little test? I've had so many other things on my mind since then that I had forgotten entirely - and really, after almost slugging my best friend, I figured I had a lot more important things to worry about. "That was ages ago. How long do those tests take?"

"I am not CSI," the woman replied wryly. "It takes a lot longer than a TV-show montage to identify an unknown substance. I had to go through thousands of databases and ran a series of tests on lab rats. The thing is...well, I believe you should come here and see for yourself."

The way she said it gave me the feeling the results weren't particularly good. "Um, okay. You want me to come over today?"

"The sooner the better. I fear that..." Dr. Mary Winters hesitated, the line going silent. I waited a few more seconds before prompting her. "Forget it. Please, this is very urgent. Come as quickly as possible."

_Click_.

"Well, that was weird," I said, staring at the receiver before setting it back down. She didn't even give me an address. I turned to Peter and asked, "You don't happen to know where Brooklyn Labs are, do you?"

"GPS," Peter replied, pulling his phone out of his pocket. "Going on a road trip?"

"Looks like it."

He grinned. "I will happily oblige to be your travel buddy."

I snorted, going over to the door and picked up my bag where I had dropped it. Well, so much for that nap I was looking forward to. "Come on. I bet she's going to tell me I have cancer or something. I mean, how bad can my luck get?"


	20. Chapter 20: Empiricism

**I'm baaack :) Here's the next chapter - it's mostly exposition, but it pertains very specifically to Amy's health. Enjoy!  
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**Reviews are appreciated.**

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**Chapter Twenty**

**Empiricism**

"Oh, good, you made it," Dr. Mary Winters was a tall, nervous-looking woman with red hair tied in a strict ponytail. Her face looked old but her hands young, so maybe stress really _does_ cause premature aging. "I was starting to panic and – oh, who's this?"

The recognition in her eyes when I showed up at her lab meant I didn't have to introduce myself. Then I realized I had to explain Peter. "He's my cousin, he helped me get here."

Peter stuck out a hand, looking oddly flustered at the sight of Dr. Winters. Was he _blushing_? Seriously, first Betty Brant, and now Winters? I was beginning to get the feeling that maybe Peter had a thing for older women. "H-hi, I'm Peter. Peter Parker."

"Dr. Mary Winters, it's nice to meet you." Dr. Winters smiled but it seemed forced politeness. Clearly, she felt that this wasn't really what she wanted to waste time on. Then she paused and turned to me with a frown. "I'm surprised you didn't bring your father. Is he busy?"

I stared at her blankly. She wanted to see my _dad_? Then I had trouble forming words to an unexpected question. "W-what?"

"I mean, I'm sorry about your mother," she dipped her head in embarrassment, reddening a little. It took me a moment that she really had no idea about my parental arrangement. "I just thought you would bring a parent – this is some heavy stuff I found. I figured it would be more important if _they_ knew...instead of your cousin."

I gaped at her, my mind reeling. How was I supposed to answer that? I _never_ had to explain it to someone before. I guess it just never really came up, but maybe people were just too embarrassed to ask. Still, I had barely an answer myself so I didn't really have a nice and neat little explanation to give to this lady about why I don't have a dad.

Peter noticed my inner struggle and tactfully intervened, coughing a little before he said, "Um, she only had her mom."

I managed to stutter, "My – my parents were never married. I've never met my dad."

Well, that was about as nice and neat as it was going to get.

Dr. Mary Winters blinked, giving me one long look. It must have occurred to her that she had stumbled upon an uncomfortable subject - and apparently couldn't decide which she found more unfortunate – wedlock birth or no-show dad. Since this was the 21st century and I didn't give two fiddlesticks either way, I hoped she'd just get on with what she wanted to show me. "Um, right. Anyways, I'll show you my work. This is...this might be a little overwhelming."

She stepped aside to let us through. Her warning had me feeling a little apprehensive and it must've showed because Peter whispered to me as soon as the scientist was a fair distance away. "Hey, you all right?"

"A little nervous," I admitted. I was probably only a few seconds away of having my entire secret identity blown wide open. Not only would she know, in explicit detail, just how messed up my genes were, but that I might not even be human anymore, and then give Peter the down low, too. Oh, my god, this might be the last day of normal I'd have.

Dr. Mary Winters still seemed a little unsure that Peter would be sharing the big news with me as she opened the doublewide silver doors to her lab. There were little portholes and I tried to peek through them, but I was too short to get a good angle. She glanced warily at Pete, and said, "Are you sure you want him to –?"

"He's family," I said sternly, before Peter could open his mouth and defend himself. I suppose if there was one person who was about to learn my d eepest, darkest secret, it would have to Peter. At least it could stay in the family. "He's fine."

"All right," Dr. Mary bobbed her head, but still looked uncertain. She let us in her lab and I looked around for some sort of hint of what she had discovered. The place was very white and gray, with cabinets along the walls and tables and workstations filling the floor. There were a couple other people working, but they were isolated in their own worlds. They didn't pay us any attention. Although the room was long, it felt cramped due to lack of windows.

It wasn't very easy figuring out what she discovered, considering there was no glowing neon sign that said: FREAKY MUTATING GIRL RIGHT HERE_._ Maybe she had no idea what she had discovered and I'd get out of here with the semblance of normalcy.

She began her talking, her voice stilted like she had been preparing this as though it were some sort of speech. "Well, it took be forever to realize that what I was analyzing were a set of genes and not a chemical substance – and that alone really shouldn't have caused any sort of alarm, because usually when blood from one being comes in contact with the system of another, things aren't thrown into biological turmoil. I tried to trace its routes, but came across a lot of dead ends. This stuff isn't biological at all, it was _manufactured_."

As Dr. Winters talked, she strolled through the room, pointing to various machines as she spoke. "That's the computer that analyzed the substance – which I've dubbed Gray Matter for the lack of a better term – and I found it strange how it came up in no databases. Usually, something like this would be found at least in a couple other labs where it was found or tested in, at least to discover its properties and/or make-up. But that didn't happen, and I decided to wait out the search by doing some testing on rats."

Dr. Mary Winters paused and gave the two of us a long look. She seemed...sad, scared even. I didn't really understand what was going on, since she hadn't gotten that far yet, but I had a bad feeling that these tests probably didn't take off in a great way. But then she shook her head and moved over to a set of cages filled with newspaper, looking down on them with a grim look. Either she really despised rats or –

My stomach did a back flip when I saw what was inside. They were all dead.

"Holy tolitos," Peter appeared beside me, staring down at the white and gray bodies. There was the smell of decay - they had been this way for a while, but she probably didn't want to disturb the bodies until she got to study them more in depth. Probably right before Dr. Winters called me. "That's what the Gray Matter did to them?"

"I'm afraid so, which is why I was so anxious to call you, Amelia," Dr. Winters was looking at me as though she were afraid I might keel over and die at any moment. "Apparently, the Gray Matter is designed to _alter_ the DNA of its recipient – as far as I know, otherwise it could be a very unfortunate side effect to an otherwise mysterious drug. I'm not entirely sure of what it does, but as you can see here, none of the test subjects survived the alteration. You can see the change, though. These used to be albino."

"Used to be?" I asked, then looked back down. The rats' fur was still white, so I didn't notice what was wrong immediately. "Wait, don't albino creatures have red eyes - oh. I see."

The rats didn't have red eyes anymore. They were grey. As grey as mine.

Oh, man.

"I'm sure the physical changes were the least of what they had to go through," Dr. Mary Winter's brow was drawn together. She clearly had very little understanding of what was going on, and I could it bothered her. It didn't surprise me. Finding answer to mind-boggling questions was sometimes like OCD for particularly determined scientists. "I observed brain and heart activity as well – before they expired, the rats seemed to have gone into some fever, rash and muscle incontinence. They barely lasted a few days."

_Whoa_. That was exactly what I had to go through. Except I came out of it alive, after one particularly unpleasant heart failure. But how come I survived and the rats didn't?

"That's, um," I swallowed, trying to hide my fear. Whatever the rats experienced had already happened to me, so I wasn't particularly afraid of dying, although that had certainly crossed my mind more than once. But what happened after? It wasn't like any of the rats lived to show what I might become. "That's pretty bad."

"I never really had an estimate of how much had gotten into your system, so I gave each set of rats different doses. Well, except for the control group, and obviously they're still alive," Dr. Winters just shrugged, scratching the back of her neck. "But it didn't matter the dosage, they all just...died. I assume your experience was different, considering your...current state?"

She meant 'not dead.' I shook my head, trying to keep my voice from shaking. "N-no. I didn't go through anything like this. Well, a little fever, but I got better. No muscle spasms or anything." Except for the part where my chest muscles didn't work and I couldn't breathe, then my heart gave out, but that was me being nitpicky about the truth.

Dr. Winters seemed relieved. In fact, her entire body seemed to deflate with pent up tension she must've been holding for several weeks now. "Oh, good. I guess you must've gotten an extremely small infection, otherwise I have no idea how you made it out alive. Luck is fickle mistress, I suppose."

That didn't really sound like something a scientist should be saying, but I decided not to point it out. This lady had clearly been worried I was going to end up in the same condition as these rats, and was happy to find I was fit as a fiddle. Peter piped up behind me, "Did your computer search come up with anything?"

"Yes, well, I was about to get to that," Dr. Winters nodded, looking uncertain again. Uh-oh, more bad news. "Um, have either of you two heard of the Super Soldier project?"

I glanced at Peter, who shrugged and replied, "If you're talking about that World War Two project, then yeah, we learned about it in history class. But if you're talking about the original formula, it was destroyed alongside with the only person who knew what it contained. The recipe is lost, like, forever."

"Then I suppose you don't know the United State's attempt at recreating it, or for that matter, the rest of the world?" the doctor wandered over to her desk and sat down, turning on her laptop and waiting for it to boot up. "After the success with Captain America, everyone else wanted to reap the benefits and make their own paradigm of human perfection. The only known ingredient was potassium, which increases muscular strength and endurance. It was a big part of the original formula, but clearly not the most important, since each and every attempt made afterwards failed, and quite spectacularly I might add. Have you two heard of the Hulk?"

Well, duh. I almost rolled my eyes at the question. Even someone like me, who doesn't watch the news or read the papers, knew about the devastation in one of the boroughs. I mean, we were New Yorkers. This was practically right in our backyard. "Yeah, the big green dude who busted Harlem,"

Peter seemed to catch on to what Dr. Winters was hinting at faster than I did, which made me feel stupid for wanting to roll my eyes. "Was he the same thing, a Super Soldier experiment gone bad?"

Dr. Winters nodded, turning to her computer to type in the password. "Oh, yeah. Some scientist thought he could remake the formula using Gamma radiation, and he survived but with some pretty nasty side effects. The kind that anger management probably wouldn't help. I had access to the reports – emotional stress triggered the transformation. Unstoppable rage," Dr. Winters shuddered at the very thought. "Thank god he's gone now."

"Why all this about Super Soldiers?" I asked. This talk of unmanageable anger and implied horror did not make me feel much better about my situation. What if I suddenly just snapped and took out an entire city block? Secret identities would be tossed right out the window if I could handle this on an emotional level. "What does the Gray Matter have to do with it?"

"Where I traced it to," Dr. Winters replied, pulling up a document from her desktop. "Even after the Hulk, people haven't stopped looking. I don't know why they haven't learn the first few times, but I guess most people aren't very rational when it comes to power. Either way, it turns out a small little company called Syndicon had been commissioned with making this Gray Matter. It's a phantom company, I can't trace it to the original owner or creator, so I assume it's a front to something bigger and probably illegal, which wouldn't be surprising."

Oh, good. So not only was I a freak, but I was _illegal_ as well? That's just fantastic.

"The project was called Uncle Sam before it was terminated after failed experiments. It was deemed too unstable to use," Dr. Winters frowned. "A couple humans survived, but they lost their minds. Something happened inside their heads that turned them into vegetables."

Even better. My heart squeezed like a vice had suddenly clamped down on it. I was an experiment that had somehow managed to not die, but now had insanity somewhere in my future. This was not looking good.

"Well, that's good," Peter had somehow managed to find a light-hearted comment to make about all of this. He clapped a hand on my shoulder. "At least I'm not living with the insane version of Captain America."

"Your optimism is inspiring," I said wryly, pushing his hand off. "You're not so bad yourself."

"Hey, it's what I do."

Dr. Winters seemed pleased with how well we seemed to be taking it. Which was good, because I didn't want her to catch me lying. "I'm glad you two are okay with this. I'm _especially_ glad you're all right, Amelia, but if you don't mind, could I run some tests to make sure? I want to see if the Gray Matter has left your system."

"Uh, I don't think that's such a good..." I tried to raise a finger in protest, but Dr. Winters was already up and heading for one of her lab tables, going through her supplies. Oh, man, was she looking for needles? I startled to tremble.

"Oh, its fine, just procedure is all," She seemed much happier now that I wasn't on the verge of becoming another casualty or going off my rocker. I wasn't in such a great mood and considered making a getaway before she could get any of my blood. It wouldn't take her long to realize my cover story, and see that I was something quite different than what the rats had shown to be. "I'll only take a little bit, and I promise it won't hurt –"

It wasn't the pain I was worried about, but I didn't have time to tell her that when a loud bang nearly had me jumping out of my skin. I backed into the desk behind me, looking around in every direction for the source of the noise. "What the hell was that?"

The other scientists were looking around, dropping their work, so this probably wasn't regular protocol for the lab. Peter frowned, "I don't know, it sounded like a –"

BLAM!

This time the sound was much closer, and I could feel the vibrations through the door. They were coming from outside and getting closer. Dr. Winters finally realized that this was getting bad and pointed at a door at the other end of the room. "Kids, get into the closet! Stay there!"

I was frozen in shock. No! Why couldn't I move? Now I could hear thundering footsteps. It occurred to me that maybe we should start getting away from that door when –

"RUN!"

The scream came when the doors burst open and something was lobbed inside the room. Some sort of canister...and gas!

"Get down!" I felt Peter push me and I stumbled away in surprise. Gas? _Gas_? The yellow clouds filled the air and I could already smell the acrid stench. It burned my nose and made my eyes water. I felt a hand wrap around my arm and pull me farther into the room, away from the chaos.

Scientists were crying out and running away, running into each other and furniture as they tried to escape, but there was nowhere to go. As the unlucky first breathed the gas, they fell to their knees, choking and gasping. Dr. Winters had run as soon as the doors burst, but tripped and fell over a chair. The gas started to obscure my vision of the room, and she was soon lost in the haze.

One man made it to a spot on the wall, where a fire hydrant and a glass case were planted. He broke the glass and hit the red button beneath. Above me, red lights started flashing and a siren began to wail. Peter continued to pull on my hand and I stumbled to keep up. We were barely ahead of the gas, getting closer to the door that Dr. Winters pointed out.

It seemed to take forever to reach the door, but when we finally did, I could hardly breathe. Not because I was out of shape, oh no, but because the gas seemed to be sucking the air right out of my lungs and replacing it with burning hot coals.

He yanked the door open and I was pushed inside. My radar in disarray, I didn't even realize I was alone until the door slammed shut and the entire world turned dark. I blinked a few times, wiping away the stinging tears, before looking around and realizing Peter wasn't in here with me. Oh, god, was he still outside?

There was a small window I could peek through, but there wasn't much to see. The entire room had filled with yellow smoke and through it, I could see dark silhouettes moving through the room. Was this some sort of attack? Had the White Rose figured out what Mary Winters had done and sought to end it before she could tell anyone else?

There were at least six of them, if not more, moving in some sort of organized pattern. One of them got closer and I could see that he had on thick black armor and a gasmask, a large gun in his arms. There was a patch on his shoulder with words on it, but they were too small and too hazy to read.

When he turned in the direction of the door, I ducked down, sucking in breath. Had he seen me? Would he try to open the door and find the one witness who wasn't down?

The door between us kept the closet airtight, so I didn't have to fear the gas seeping in, but I still didn't feel safe. Where was Peter? Had they found him? What did they want?

I hated feeling useless, but I didn't want to go parading my powers with Mary Winters nearby. And I was pretty sure my helmet wouldn't do too much to stop that gas from getting into my lungs. Now I was stuck inside a closet, trapped until they went away. Oh, man, what if they blew up the building, or set fire to the lab?

Keeping my back to the door, I let my radar be my eyes. The group of men - or soldiers, I couldn't tell - were clearing the room, checking to make sure everyone was down before...before what? I didn't know what they were doing.

I also couldn't find Peter on my radar. He would've been easy to pick out from the adults wearing lab coats and goggles. It was as though he had completely vanished.

I sighed. Well, at least I could take comfort in that he wasn't hurt. As far as I knew.

Then I heard the sound of smashing. I immediately narrowed it down on my radar and gaped when I realized one of the gunmen were smashing computers with the butt of his gun. The rest were doing the same – destroying whatever machine they could find, knocking down sets of chemicals and formulas and making a great big mess. What the hell...

Why were they destroying the lab? Was it about the Gray Matter? Somehow, I didn't think I was wrong. Everything about that Gray Matter seemed to spell trouble.

That's when I heard the sound of a fan, somewhere above me. Not exactly in the closet, but just outside it. The yellow smoke started to move - upwards. I looked up through the window, fascinated, as the room began to clear. Did the men turn on the fan to clear the room? It seemed counter-intuitive, since they put so much trouble to incapacitate everyone. Maybe it was part of the alarm, or someone was around to kick it in.

The last two options were probably right. The men started to move frantically, not expecting the room to clear out so fast. I heard gunshots as they tried to finish the job faster, taking out an array of computer screens in only a few seconds. There were a couple of cries but everyone else was either in pain or unconscious. None of them seemed dead, as far as my radar could tell. I picked up several heartbeats. Destroy the evidence but leave the scientists alive? Who were these people?

I peeked out the window again. Someone new had appeared in my radar – someone skinnier, smaller than the rest. At first, I was excited – was it Peter? Was he all right?

But that didn't make sense, even as I wondered. This newcomer stood in the center of the room, on top of a table, arms folded across his chest. Peter wouldn't do something stupid like that. I couldn't even imagine how he got there. Through the window, I saw the red-and-blue suit, heard the voice through the door, somewhat muffled. Spider-Man!

Wow, he had great timing.

The armed men looked equally surprised. In the clear air, it was definitely obvious these guys weren't mob. In fact, they looked military. How odd.

But where was Peter?

The armed men had the guns aimed at Spider-Man, who was taking it pretty well. Then again, I had never seen the guy stressed or afraid before, so maybe it was just an act. Either way, I was kind of impressed. Usually I was too busy trying to decide between panicking and fighting to try to put on a show.

I watched as he held a captive audience. The longer Spider-Man was up there, talking, the thicker the tension became. I didn't know if Spider-Man understood just what he was getting himself into. My knowledge on military protocol with superheroes was pretty vague, but there was no way my radar was mistaking the tightening of fingers over the trigger of their guns.

Unless he was planning on actually stopping them, I had a bad feeling that Spider-Man was about to be turned into hamburger in about five seconds.

Jamming their guns was all I could do to protect him. And to provoke Spider-Man into action, I blew the doors wide open and pulled the fire alarm, all within reach of my radar.

Everyone jumped as the doors banged with some unseen force, and cried out in surprise when the sprinkler system turned on. The fire alarm clashed terribly with the other siren, possibly for contamination or breaching. If I wasn't so tense, I would've thought their reactions were priceless. Of course, the door to the closet had to unlock itself, another emergency protocol.

I ducked down again, gasping in shock. Okay, didn't expect _that_ to happen. There was so much noise, from the rushing water to the shouting, in the lab that I doubted they heard me, but I couldn't be too careful. Water started to seep in, soaking my shoes. I clung to the backpack on my shoulder, crouching low to the ground and keeping my eyes on the crack in the door. Maybe I could make a run for it, get out of here and maybe return as Falcon. Clean this mess up, at least.

I doubted the water would do wonders for the computers and systems in the lab, but I couldn't think of anything else to do. At least the armed men were distracted – keeping track of everyone on my radar, I observed as Spider-Man jumped onto the shoulders of one man and took him down simply with the force of his feet.

The one nearest to the fallen soldier tried to turn his gun on Spider-Man, but was momentarily surprised when his weapon didn't fire off when it was supposed to. Spider-Man didn't waste time knocking aside the gun and punching the man out, his fist striking clean through the gasmask. I winced at the impact – never mess with a fist of superhuman strength.

One by one Spider-Man took out the attackers, knocking away their weapons and pinning them to the ground with his web. I watched as he pulled fallen scientists up from the ground, got them in sitting positions, made sure they were still alive and breathing. With imminent danger gone, I chose this moment to leave the closet. Maybe I could find Peter in the wreckage.

I pushed open the closet door slowly, so as to not alarm Spider-Man. I had no idea how this guy would react to me, a civilian – I was too used to the idea of interacting with him as my Falcon persona, and realized I probably shouldn't give myself away by saying something only she would know, not Amy Fletcher.

He turned in my direction and I raised my hands, showing I meant no harm. I've never known Spider-Man to be particularly hostile to civilians, but there was no such thing as being too careful. He nodded to me, acknowledging that I wasn't an enemy, and I deemed it safe to move further into the room.

Water from the sprinklers soaked me instantly. I moved slowly through the wreckage, watching out for open sparks and fuses. I hope I wouldn't accidentally start a fire by pulling the fire alarm. Man, the irony would probably kill me. Literally.

All the bodies I came across belonged to scientists. I helped them up; most had regained consciousness thanks to the sudden arrival of cold water, but I still couldn't help but feel disappointed and scared each time I came across another false alarm. Where the hell did Peter go?

I heard another set of sirens, this time from vehicles. Finally, someone called the police. I realized that maybe Peter made it out before things were shot to hell, so I headed outside. I was greeted with paramedics and policemen, but no Peter. I looked around at the gathered police cruisers, fire trucks, and ambulances. Lots of people in uniforms and a bystanders being pushed behind a wall of sawhorses, but no Peter. Oh, man.

I made to turn around to go back inside, but police man held me back, saying it was too dangerous to go back into an insecure building, but I was pretty sure I was going to lose it if I didn't find Peter. I struggled against the big hands, the calming words. A paramedic came up, told me everything was going to be all right, that the police will handle everything.

That wasn't good enough, not for me.

Successfully managing to pull away, I ran back inside before they could tell me anything else. There wasn't any fire, as far as I knew – the alarm was just to give Spider-Man the advantage. It was safe, aside from the guns and soldiers. I should've checked their armor, see where they were from.

Back inside the building, I headed straight for the lab. I burst through the doors, hoping I could get Spider-Man to help me, but was surprised to find he was no longer there.

And neither was anything else.

The lab was completely empty.

No way. This wasn't happening. It wasn't possible. I was only gone for a couple minutes. Where were the scientists? Dr. Mary Winters? The armed men? The tables, the computers, _everything_? It all just vanished!

The only thing that remained was the water running down the drains. The pressure was getting weaker. Maybe someone figured out how to turn it off.

I clutched my head, falling to my knees. Was this really happening? Was I losing my mind?

* * *

**A/N: Any mention of other Marvel hero's are simply references to the universe they live in. The Avengers, as far as I can divine, have not formed and if this were put on the Marvel Cinematic timescale, it would be before the first Iron Man movie. I'm not saying this in implication that any of the superheroes will show up later, just to have the feel these characters live in a larger world than just NYC.**

**Although it would be really cool to have other marvel heroes in here, its not going to happen in this leg of the story. **


	21. Chapter 21: Repression

**Chapter Twenty-One**

**Repression**

_Wham!_

My fist bounced off the punching bag, and I attacked it with my other. Back and forth, back and forth, a pattern in my head.

_Whumph! Thump! Wham!_

I could feel the sand dent and slide each time I hit it, the tiny waves that move through the entire bag at each impact. Each one sent jolts up my arm, made my muscles tense and ache, and it felt good.

Knocking people out with flying trashcans felt so superficial. For once, I wanted to deal with my problems head-on, feel the pain in my knuckles and feet. I didn't want to hide on roof-tops anymore, just letting my mental strength do the work for me. It felt so _satisfying_ just to feel something move underneath my own hand.

The tape and padding around my hands kept my skin from breaking. I had heard stories of monks, ancient warriors who would punch at the bark of trees until they could no longer feel pain in their hands. I slammed my knuckles again into the bag and winced, the muscles in my arms twinging. Ouch. That must be a lot of tree-punching.

But I sucked it up and kept going.

I had to release the frustration pent up in the past couple days. After my minor panic attack at Brooklyn Labs when no one could find Peter, he appeared behind the fire truck with camera in hand. I practically tackled him, I was so glad he was still alive. He had just been chasing Spider-Man for pictures.

I still had to admit, Spider-Man showing up at Brooklyn Labs so soon after the attack started was incredibly convenient. Had Peter called him?

_Thump!_

That wasn't the biggest of my problems. I punched the bag harder as they reemerged in my mind. The chains to the punching bad rocked back and forth, rattling as my hits became stronger and more powerful.

_Whumph!_

I hadn't spoken to Gwen in days, but it didn't take me very long to figure out that my internship at the APEX building was pretty much over with. After the destruction of the lab, loss of a scientist and then massive chaos after their AI went nuts – they probably had other things to worry about than teenagers wanting experience. Now without a job, I needed something to do in my free time. First-hand experience on the streets wasn't the ideal route to up my game, so I did the next best thing.

Taking a job at the local gym was the only thing I could do, but it paid off pretty well. I helped around, swept floors and cleaned bathrooms, made sure the doors were locked up before I left – and I could take as many classes I want, use the facilities whenever I had the time.

_Thump!_

But none of it helped with the fact that I might be losing my mind. Literally, I could just snap and blow up, go Hulk on everyone and tear down a borough. I was a dead woman walking.

_Wham! Whumph!_

"Hey, take it easy there, champ," called the gym manager, a Hispanic man known by the name of Danny. I had no idea what his last name was, or if Danny was a nickname or his real name; everyone just called him Danny. "You going for the Olympics?"

"Not Olympics," I inhaled, dropping my fists and leaning onto the punching bag as I caught my breath. Sweat beaded off my forehead and I raised a hand to wipe it off. "Just stress relief."

"Fair enough," Danny nodded, understanding. He leaned against the ropes around the boxing ring. He usually taught aspiring boxers and wrestlers; a pair of such was having a tussle on the mat right now. "I have to admit, though, I don't see a lot of girls here, especially not those into boxing."

"I guess it's not how a lot of people solve their problems," I admitted, stretching my arms before they got too heavy from exhaustion. Granted, I wasn't the _only_ girl here, and in some of the classes I took, a lot of them were women – but they were also a lot older and bigger than me. That also meant I didn't know anyone here, which was one of the reasons why I picked this place and not the school weight room. "I know it's definitely something my mom wouldn't use."

Danny grinned, shaking a finger at me. "Ah, but that's because she's a smart lady. See, I know a lot of guys who think they need to fight through their problems like everything going against them is some sort of challenge against the universe. My dad was like that, got into a fist fight with his boss. I mean, he won, but he had another thing waiting at home for him that night. My mother ripped him a new one."

"Is there some sort of lesson you're trying to teach me?" I laughed, crossing my arms over my chest. My muscles ached at the sudden lack of movement, how I had dropped the exercise so suddenly. I wasn't really an expert on exercise and to keep up appearances I gave poor performance during gym class, so I wasn't really sure how warm-ups and cool-downs work. How long do they go? How do you tone down punches? "Fill your quota of wise advice to the youth of Queens?"

"Hey, it's a bad habit, I know," Danny raised his hands in innocence. I shouldn't have been so harsh; he was a coach after all. It was probably his job to make sure kids kept on the right track. "I've seen boys and girls in situations a lot worse than yours and see them make it out better than a lot of people I know. It's a great feeling, overcoming those obstacles, and there are different ways to do that. Just don't think you have to fight everything in your life."

I shook my head, a little doubtful of his warning. "Oh, I don't know. I have to do a lot more fighting than you might think. My life can get pretty, um, intense sometimes."

"Well, I can't say I didn't try," Danny shrugged, turning back to watch his students duke it out in all their sweaty glory. "Just keep your head on straight, okay? Bring up your arm, William, up with your arm! We don't want any serious injuries here..."

Our conversation having ended, I headed over to the locker room and unwrapped the binds from my hands. Stretching my fingers to get some feeling back into them, I changed into day clothes and left the gym with my backpack slung over my shoulder. I waved to a couple people I recognized from my classes as I pushed through the heavy metal doors.

Eddie was waiting on his motorcycle in the street, as he had been doing for the past couple days now. A big grin broke out on my face when I saw him; this was a tradition that had yet to get old on me. Eddie seemed particularly excited today, and spoke immediately once I was in range. "I've got a huge surprise for you."

"Oh?" I said, not expecting this. Eddie wasn't exactly the kind of guy who's spontaneously generous for one reason or another. I tried to figure out the new thing in his life that might have brought this about, but I was drawing a blank. "What is it?"

"If I tell you, then it's not a surprise," He chuckled, motioning to the seat behind him. "Hop on. This is going to be great."

"I'll take your word for it," I replied, pulling out my helmet. I no longer felt nervous wearing it in public, as myself. And no longer did I feel anxious getting onto Eddie's motorcycle, or his crazy daredevil antics through Manhattan rush hour. Even as he gunned the engine and sped onto the street, I clung on tighter and felt adrenalin course through my veins as we narrowly avoided collision with a big rig. I actually thought it was kind of...fun!

That was another thing I never told Dr. Kindell about. I think he'd have a heart attack if he knew just what Eddie would do on the streets and me along with him. Would he consider this healthy behavior? Probably not, since every other second we seemed to cheat death somehow, yet in the back of my mind, I wondered if I was sick. It wouldn't take much convincing for Dr. Kindell to tell me so, but I tried not to think about him. He was like that teacher chaperone at school dances – not letting the kids get too close to each other, not letting them dance the way they want to. A total killjoy.

I certainly wasn't going to tell him about my fear of my impending insanity. That would be opening an entirely different can of really gross worms, a mess that I didn't want to deal with.

I figured out we were heading towards ESU pretty quick. Crossing the Queensboro bridge kind of gave it away, and with that knowledge I tried to figure out just what was going on at the lab. I felt as though I should already know – after all, Peter had made a big deal this afternoon about the alien coming to New York, something that Aunt May laughed about. She may not be a believer in alien life, but it would have been hard to convince Peter not to try and get a look at the thing that came down with the spaceship a couple days ago on Halloween.

I smiled to myself. Peter was going to be _so_ jealous.

As we arrived, I had to keep myself from blurting out that I knew what Eddie was going to show me. Still, I was practically jumping up and down from excitement, and I had to control myself. If Eddie thought I had it all figured it out, he might not show me.

If I was this excited about secrets, it was a wonder how no one figured out I was Falcon yet. How I kept myself from blurting it out, just to spite someone, was beyond me.

I took a deep breath and calmed myself, following Eddie as he used his access card to get into the lab. He was talking animatedly, and I realized I completely zoned out for a moment when I realized I had no idea what he was saying. "...wouldn't _believe_ how excited Doc Connors was when he heard the goo was getting sent here. He really needed it, you know, after the whole, um, reptile accident."

"Oh, yeah," I nodded as if I knew exactly what he meant, even though I was scrambling to catch up with him.

At first, I didn't understand what he was referencing, then I remembered the monster attack at the zoo a couple weeks ago. That was Dr. Connors? He must've suffered a lot to get _that_ bit out of the media. I had only seen him on TV and in newspapers, but I still felt kind of bad for the guy. Getting transformed into a wild beast probably didn't make the list for Best Day Ever.

Through the doors was a gigantic room – much, much larger than Dr. Winter's lab, which didn't exist anymore. Everything about this place reminded me of Brooklyn Labs, which only made me feel more awkward and paranoid. Not even the police could figure out where everything and everyone all went, didn't even know what to chalk the incident under. Seeing the metal tables and scientific equipment here, with scientists in their white lab coats and plastic goggles, I wondered if the same thing would happen here. Nothing but bad luck seemed to follow me these days.

At the far end of the room was a glass bubble of sorts, but the alien life form must've been tiny, because I couldn't see anything from here.

I _did_ notice Gwen Stacy, near a tank full of glowing eels. She stared at me, her expression carefully guarded. She didn't wave or say hello, and turned back to her clipboard before I could try anything.

Not that I was going to. I felt my face heat up in embarrassment and hoped everyone else took it as windburn. I hadn't spoken to Gwen in a few days – now she was giving me the cold shoulder and I didn't know how to tell her I was sorry without having to explain myself. There was no way I could do it without revealing my powers, or possibly deteriorating mental state.

Still, the strange jolt of pain in my chest and the burning sensation behind my eyes prevented me from fooling myself into thinking this would work itself out. I didn't know how to talk to Gwen yet, but I hoped inspiration would kick in soon.

Eddie, completely oblivious to what just happened between me and my (former) best friend, went up ahead towards the glass container. "This is it, the black goo from outer space!"

Up close, the alien didn't look particularly impressive. After watching _ET _and _Star Wars_, I'd figure the first time I'd meet an alien, it would come down from a space ship, or at least have vertebrae and maybe a face. 'Goo' was the right word for the thing, because I didn't know how else to describe it. A black liquid, almost oily in appearance, stuck to the side of the glass like a spider. I almost thought it had been a stain at first until it moved.

Vertebrae or not, the thing could tell we were there. I couldn't tell how, because it didn't seem to have a brain or eyes, but as I stepped onto the platform, I saw it shift. Pulsing slightly, the goo creeped across the glass so it was closer when I approached. A little freaked out, I didn't want to get closer, but it felt rude because Eddie was still kind of far away. Steeling my nerves, I walked right up to the glass. The thing must be filtering air, because a cold draft emanated from its surface. Probably to give the goo some semblance of its home in space.

"Cool, right?" Eddie asked, grinning ear to ear. He was clearly pleased to be in the presence of the alien, but I wasn't so sure why it was important. Ok, yeah, it was the first alien life form discovered in, like, _ever_, but the way Eddie acted, it seemed to mean so much more. Like it reaffirmed his existence somehow. I didn't know how to explain it, but Eddie looked – I don't know, _relieved._ "According to the Doc, it's a type of symbiote – it bonds to other life forms as a way to survive. It even responds to body heat!"

That explained why it sensed our approach, but I still wasn't sure why it was leaning towards me when Eddie was clearly the larger individual. I mean, greater heat over surface area, something like that, right? I frowned, but tried to reassure myself that maybe the convex shape of the glass was just warping its abilities.

"This is going to get ESU on the map, get our reputation back on track!" Eddie said, staring at the alien like it had just saved his life. "We'll finally get that grant for new equipment once the Connors sends out their first report on the alien."

"That's so neat," I smiled at him, and on a whim I placed my hand on the glass, directly over the goo. The glass was cool to the touch and goose bumps went up and down my arm. It seemed to shrink away for a moment, then hid behind my palm. Confused, I drew back and saw that the goo had taken the shape of my hand where it had been. It continued to pulse in conjunction to my heartbeat. "Wow, it really _does_ respond to body heat. That is so...creepy."

"Well, that's one word for it." Eddie chuckled. "It just likes you, that's all."

I couldn't take my eyes off of the goo. It had no eyes, no face, but I felt like I was being watched. A chill crept down my back like a drop of ice melt had slipped under my jacket. I shivered and stepped away. "Peter is going to be so jealous when I tell him about this."

"You should," I took my gaze off the goo long enough to see a look flash across Eddie's face. It was almost too fast for me to catch, but I definitely noticed the darkening in his eyes, the way the smile faded from his lips. "It's what he deserves, after what he did to me - err, I mean, us. I bet he's just dying to get a good look at it – but he'll probably just take pictures and sell them to the _Bugle_ again."

I blinked and looked away before he could meet my eyes. I hadn't quite believed Peter when he said there was something about Eddie, something dark about him, until now. There aren't a lot of people I'd wish ill will on, but Peter for taking pictures isn't exactly a crime. Okay, so he was doing it for the money, but people make tough decisions every day. _I_ didn't blame him for it; I figured I would've done the same thing.

But Eddie...it was like watching a kid's movie for the first time in years, and suddenly you're catching all the jokes meant for adults. Only this isn't funny, and you wish they weren't there. My little crush wasn't just a crush anymore –it was mixed with longing and fear. Fear of what, I didn't know. I hoped I didn't have to find out.

OoOoO

Helping Spider-Man defuse a gang war stand-off was not Falcon's idea of fun.

While Spider-Man kept himself busy taking out and tying up bad guys for the cops to grab, Falcon made sure they couldn't drive away, upending cars and pulling out the escapees. A couple ganged up on her and Falcon brought up her arms, pleased to finally get a chance to put her new boxing experience to the test.

The first guy had his pants half-way down to his knees and a skullcap that almost covered his eyes. He jumped out at her, hoping to tackle Falcon to the ground.

But she dodged and shot out her fist, giving the man a tremendous right hook as he turned around to attempt another go. The impact spun him on his heel and he crumpled to the tarmac, out cold.

In Falcon's personal opinion, seeing that should've made the other gangbangers run for their mommies, but it only made them angrier. Deciding that two heads were better than one, a duo of skinheads jumped on Falcon, each grabbing one of her arms.

They pulled opposite ways, trying to pop her arms out of her sockets.

Falcon yanked but they had a good hold on her – so she planted her hands on each of their chests and concentrated.

_Fwoom!_

Air coiled and compressed around her hands. Falcon held it until the pressure in her head turned her vision spotty and black. When she released, the grip on her arms vanished as both skinheads were launched in either direction.

"Whoa!" Spider-Man swung overhead, catching them both in two nets of web. "That had to be _at least_ twenty yards!"

"Thanks," Falcon said, rubbing the side of her head. The amount of pressure that had built up left her a little dizzy and fazed. Still, it was much better than the last time, where she almost passed out trying to stop an out-of-control subway train. "I've been practicing."

With most of the gangbangers either running for their lives or strung up in sticky nets, Falcon considered her job done here. Still, she wanted to finish what she came here for, "Hey, know that alien that was sent to ESU labs the other day?"

Spider-Man dropped beside her, checking under the car to see if there were any more bad guys lurking around. Falcon's radar didn't detect any, but maybe his spider sense was sharper. "Yeah, what about it?"

"I saw it." Falcon grinned as he jerked up, spinning to look at her in surprise. "Up close."

"What?" Spider-Man took her by the shoulders, shaking her a little as if the very idea had him desperate for more. Her head bobbed back and forth as Spider-Man demanded, "_How_? I've been trying to get a good look at it but they won't let anyone in. Did you break into the lab or something?"

"Knock it off," Falcon pushed his arms off of her, taking a step back before Spider-Man could tackle her and interrogate for more information. "I had friendly access. I, um, know someone who works there."

"Yeah, so do I!" Spider-Man hooked a thumb at himself and for a minute there was still silence as they stared at one another. The silence was amplified by the deserted street and low moans of the captured thugs. Spider-Man deflated, dropping his arms to his sides and tried to backpedal, "Um, I mean...who?"

She found herself a little disturbed that perhaps Spider-Man knew someone _she_ knew. Did that mean she knew _him_, too, as his alter ego? Falcon frowned but decided it wouldn't hurt just to tease him a little more. "None of your business."

Spider-Man was about to retort when his cell-phone went off, playing _Itsy-Bitsy Spider_. Falcon stared, speechless, as he backed off with a finger in the air of the universal signal of 'one moment, please' before withdrawing the phone from somewhere on his waistline and answering it. "Uh, hello? I'm kind of in the middle of something."

Falcon still couldn't pull her eyes off of Spider-Man. The ring-tone, the cell phone – it looked so familiar. But where had she seen it before? The theme tune, she was sure this wasn't the first time she had heard it. But where? And when? More importantly, _who_?

Spider-Man raised an arm and swung away, still chatting away with whoever was on the other line (they were having a heated discussion on shawarma). Falcon watched him go.

She had decided not to follow him, an uneasy feeling in her gut.

Falcon didn't like all these little coincidences towards Spider-Man's alter ego. Did she _know_ him, somehow? Falcon kind of thought his voice sounded familiar, but one time she mistook an actor on TV for her mother, so had written off the experience as her brain being weird. But now that she really thought about it this time, she wondered if she really _did_ know Spider-Man.

But then who could he be?

It was far-fetched to think that out of six million New Yorkers, in all five different Boroughs, she actually knew the guy behind the mask. What were the odds of the Big Apple's two superheroes actually knowing each other (but not knowing it) in their civilian lives? It sounded too crazy, too impossible to be true.

But Falcon couldn't help but wonder whose face was behind it. She felt like it would be so easy to just jump Spider-Man right now, while he was distracted with his call, and rip his mask off (maybe even do it with her mind), but Falcon wasn't stupid. The consequences of such an action (and learning Spider-Man's ultimate identity), might backfire in the worst possible way. Falcon wasn't sure how it would turn out, but she watched enough movies to know that the curious never prospered. More than likely, they ended up dead.

Still, Falcon wasn't writing off the idea entirely. In the back of her mind, she promised herself that if someone's life was on the line, or if times were desperate enough, she _will_ find out who was behind that red-and-blue mask.


	22. Chapter 22: Altruism

**Insanity is a b*tch.**

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

**Altruism**

* * *

**A Closer Look at New York's Guardians:**

_By Reporter Ned Lee _

**Ever since Spider-Man **showed up last May, he has become an inspiration to the Big Apple and a celebrated hero amongst New Yorkers. Fans have taken the hero's famous insignia and graffiti'd the walls of neighborhoods he's cleaned up. His fight against the underground crime world has aided cops in the crackdown on the elusive Big Man and his empire. Support for Spider-man has since skyrocketed after the appearance of bad guys, like Doctor Octopus and Green Goblin.

Spider-Man himself is possibly one of the best things to have come out this year, despite all the recent trouble the world has experienced. The NYPD have been struggling for years to catch up with all the crimes in the city, and the crime rate has dropped 46% since the Webhead showed up, a world record. The death rate has dropped as well, industrial disasters and fires negated when Spider-Man can go places where the firefighters can't. Heck, the guy pulled an entire boat out of the Hudson after it started to sink, holding the thing up in massive amounts of web. Where does he get all his pretty toys?

Although some might think Spider-Man is a menace, who causes as much trouble as he stops, there is no doubt that New York has benefited from his arrival.

But opinions of the recent hit Falcon has not been as shining. Many thought that she would become the next Spider-Man after crashing the APEX expo and saving hundreds of lives from an assassin. However, Falcon has proved to be cut from a different cloth than Spider-Man – uncommunicative to her fans, hostile to police and media, and seeming to have a vendetta against the White Rose mafia, Falcon doesn't seem interested in New York's safety, but rather her own agenda. Her actions against the mafia have led to shoot-outs and assassin attempts, turning the police against her, as well as the people who thought she would keep them safe.

So is Falcon a hero, or merely a shadow to Spider-Man's reputation? Spider-Man himself has never shown to be antagonistic towards the black-clad bird girl, so we can only assume that she's not as bad as she appears. The Daily Bugle has even reported them working side by side together, so perhaps Spider-Man has convinced Falcon to turn a new leaf. After the threats of the White Rose to continue their deadly attacks if she didn't back off, Falcon appears to have stuck by Spider-Man's side and taken her toe out of the underworld of crime.

So has Falcon become part of the light, or just a ticking time bomb to destruction? Rumors of her origin hint at genetic engineering of the lethal sort, a la Hulk, a bad memory many New Yorkers wish to forget. Signs from recent fights hint that perhaps Falcon isn't as mentally or emotionally stable as she appears; the criminals she bags are not nicely tied up as Spider-Man is wont to do, but rather in critical conditions. With this lack of respect to other humans, what else could she be capable of? Murder? Homicide? Some are beginning to fear that she might lose all control and level the city, another Hulk the military has to deal with. We can only hope Spider-Man might be able to stop her if it ever came to that.

Spider-Man's loyalty and trust in Falcon is something to be admired, but I don't envy him. The superhero already has a huge rogue's gallery, all of whom have it in for the guy. Personally, I'd get Falcon on my side, quick, before she loses it and strikes out at the White Rose again. She's powerful, but doesn't know her own limits. She's got the bad guys running, but one day it could be us running from her, too.

* * *

These therapy meetings were really starting to get on my nerves.

I set the _Daily Bugle_ down, frustrated not only with myself but with the world in general. What could I say, it's hard to hold back on a guy in a ski mask who just pointed a gun at a helpless old lady. He had it coming, just like all the other criminals who got me instead of the Webhead. I played rough, so what? That's just how I roll.

Granted, it wasn't just the bad guys I was hard on. I rolled my wrists, trying to ease the stiffness. My knuckles were always sore after a day's worth of patrolling the city. Maybe I'd grow calluses, but until then, my gloves were staying on.

I also couldn't help but wonder how the _Daily Bugle_ of all things could pick up on the idea that I might be losing my mind. I had been trying so hard to keep it out of my civilian life that I must have let loose as Falcon. I never _felt_ out of control or insane – my punches were getting harder because I was getting stronger, not..._crazier._

"So what do you think?" Dr. Kindell asked behind me. I stared at the ceiling, sitting in that chair again and facing away from the doctor. I could sense his pen poised for my answer, ready to jot down his own assumptions. Jerk. "Does the article bother you?"

I don't know what was up with this little activity, but it had been a new thing recently. Dr. Kindell would ask me to read an article he picked out, usually something about someone's personal story with lots of emotion or controversy (or the double whammy: both). It was annoying, but today I was too tired to come up with a different opinion other than my own.

"People are really hard on Falcon these days; I mean, she's trying her best and she's got her own reasons to be out there. I mean, what does New York expect? She's not a martyr; she's not going to sacrifice her entire life to all of the problems in the city. She probably has other things in mind, a score to settle with someone who crossed her. And with her power, who's going to stop her? Who gives these people the right to judge someone they don't even know?"

I took a deep breath after I was done my ranting, waiting for a response. Dr. Kindell always played Devil's Advocate, so I was prepared to get my defensiveness on.

"They don't," he admitted, which mollified me a little bit, at least until he said, "But that's not going to stop them. After all, Falcon causes a lot of damage to the city. Because of her actions, innocent civilians get hurt. I think New York City may _feel_ as though they should have a say in who protects them."

"But Falcon isn't trying to protect them, she's just trying to find –" I nearly gave myself away and said 'her mother' but caught myself and hastily changed my answer. "...t-to find her way."

"Find her way?" Dr. Kindell repeated skeptically, and I heard him scribbling something down. I inhaled, forcing down the temptation to ask what it was. "What do you mean by that?"

I thought for a bit, frustrated with my own vagueness, before shrugging helplessly. "I...I don't know. People just expect her to be a hero, but maybe she doesn't want to be a hero, you know? Maybe she doesn't know how to handle that kind of expectation and just wants to solve her own problems before she helps anyone else's. Not everyone can be like Spider-Man."

"I take it you sympathize with her?"

I rolled my eyes. I wasn't going to bother putting up a charade. "No, I just said all that because I have nothing better to do than stare at a wall and let someone pick at my brain for an entire hour. Ask a stupid question will you?"

I heard the sigh of a man who patience was being tested. I smiled to myself, pleased. Was there an achievement for making your therapist look like an idiot?

"Amelia, have you gone back to your old apartment yet?" he asked, abruptly changing the topic. I had expected him to take another jab about my feelings with superheroes, so I was unprepared for the question.

"Um, no..." I mumbled, not entirely sure where this was going. Damn it, he had the advantage again. I hadn't even realized that it wasn't a crime scene anymore, much less thought about going back. Why would I want to? There was nothing there I wanted to see. "Why?"

"Well, had it occurred to you that the experience may be...cathartic?" Dr. Kindell asked, choosing his words carefully. Through my radar, I could see him pick a piece of lint of his suit and flick it away. "It's been almost two months. Maybe the memories of your mother will help you feel better, feel closer to her."

"I'll feel closer when she's actually back, thanks," I muttered, glaring at my feet at the other end of the couch. Why did Dr. Kindell treat the situation like Mom was already dead? Like the idea of her coming back was ridiculous? I was never going to be _okay_ with her being gone. Walking through old memories wasn't going to help me reach acceptance, or whatever the hell this therapy was supposed to do for me. "I'll go back when she's back."

He sighed again and I heard the cap behind returned to its pen. Dr. Kindell leaned forward and asked gently, "Amelia, I know it may be hard to accept, but sometimes...the people we love _never_ come back."

My ears rang. He did _not_ just say that.

That did it.

I shot out of the chair and whipped around to face him, shouting, "Only if I stop trying! All of you act like she's already dead, but I know she's not! She's still out there, and if I gave up, then I'll never see her again!"

Dr. Kindell nearly fell out of his seat in surprise. He jumped, dropping the pen and paper, holding up a placating hand before I completely flew off the handle. "Calm down, Amelia, that's not what I meant. I'm just trying to help you understand –"

"That it's hopeless!" I accused, swiping my hand across the back of the chair I had been sitting on. It was an impulsive move, one I made in anger, and the chair was thrown to the floor with a loud crash. The books on the shelves and the pictures on the walls rattled from the fall. I wasn't the least bit deterred by my excessive strength. "You believe it, so you're trying to make me believe it, too. You're trying to prep me because that's how you think it'll turn out. But I'm not going to let that happen! I'm not giving up on her like everyone else did!"

By now he had stood up, trying to speak through my tirade, but I just shouted louder. Around the edges of my vision I saw red, and heard the blood pounding in my ears. It was so strong it felt like my head was vibrating, but even louder was the music in the room. Cheerful music and I despised it immediately. Why had Dr. Kindell put it on? Did he think that would actually make me feel better?

"Amelia, _please_..."

"No!" I shouted, backing away from the doctor. I could feel my hands shaking, curling into fists. Now I was scared; I was afraid of losing control again. But still angry, because he thought he could help me. "You think you know who I am, but you have no idea what's going on in my head! You have no concept of what I'm going through. I don't know why I wasted all my time coming here, for hours on end, because now I'm worse off than before!"

I planted my hands over my ears as he tried to come up with excuses – and also to block out the music, which seemed only to make my head worse. The longer I listened, the harder it was to hear my own thoughts, and I was already having problems focusing on my radar. It kept blinking in and out, and although I knew my powers were still functioning, I couldn't understand why all my senses felt so dull. It was like I had suddenly been submerged in a suppressing fog, unable to see or hear clearly, anything except that awful little tune.

I made for the door as Dr. Kindell was reaching for the phone on his desk. Just before I slammed the door shut, I called out, "And turn off that damn music!"

The door entered its frame with such a force that I sensed things toppling inside the office. Through the noise, I hadn't been able to hear his mutter. If I had, I would have heard, "There's no music..."

But I was so furious that I didn't stay to demand what he said. I was done with this whole thing, I knew I would never come back here. Court orders be damned, I didn't care anymore. These people were already convinced Mom was a lost cause, and I wasn't going to deal with that anymore. I would find Mom and prove them all wrong. Everything was going to better once she was back, once my life was normal again.

There was an urge within me to vent to someone, someone close that I knew well. I wanted to tell Gwen, tell her everything that was wrong and just have her listen and say that it was going to be all right, like she always did.

Then I remembered we weren't friends anymore. I wanted to punch a wall.

I stormed out of the building – it was far too early for Eddie to be here, so I'd have to go off on my own. I didn't mind, I really needed time to myself. Flying would make me feel better, clear my head and get rid of the pounding that had short-circuited my radar. I didn't like walking blind like this and still having powers; it was like a blind man using a live chainsaw for a walking stick. A disaster could happen at any moment and I'd be helpless to stop it.

OoOoO

The sharp, cold wing refreshed Falcon and cleared her mind, kicking her radar back into gear. _Ah, that's better_. She cruised above the streets, glad the cover of darkness came earlier now that November was here. It had gotten colder as winter made its approach, but Falcon's suit was made of insulating material: keeping her warm in the cold and cool in the warm. Besides, constant exercise never failed to keep her blood moving.

_Spider-Man's shadow, ha!_ Falcon laughed to herself, recalling the _Bugle_ article in disdain. She was her own person, not a wannabe Webhead. So what helping people wasn't her priority, so what if she made criminals regret what they did – it was what they deserved.

Her gung-ho behavior was only disapproved by the media watchdogs who feared some might see her as some sort of role model. _As if_. Anyone who aspired to be like Falcon wasn't someone who should be left to their own devices. No one in their right mind would want to be like her, especially if they knew how she ended up this way.

But Falcon had to admit, Spider-Man was growing on her. He didn't treat her like a ticking time bomb about to go off, an out of control weapon that needed to be reined in. Okay, sure, his nicknames sometimes got annoying, but the guy meant well. Falcon felt that his Good Samaritan attitude was a little excessive, but it was clearly working out for Spider-Man, considering all of his supporters. Maybe he was rubbing off on her. Sometimes Falcon felt really good dunking some petty thieves or nailing the guy who sold pirated videos from the Laundromat – things that Falcon felt were beneath her notice, yet had her feeling pleased with herself anyways.

She flew over Upper East Side, enjoying the view of the fancy apartments and rich lives these people lived. Falcon envied them, and she hoped one day she could live as nicely as they do. It would have been a lot better than the tiny flat in Hell's Kitchen, or even Aunt May's place in Queens. She wanted to live in a big apartment that had a bathroom without a rusty shower, a place where the stove and dinner table weren't connected to each other. Maybe have a nice, normal family, without super powers or Italian mafia or whatever the hell made Falcon's life so different from everyone else's.

Ruminating on the idea of sleeping in a bed big enough for two people, Falcon noticed something at the edge of her vision. Looking down, she caught sight of movement in a dark window. She swooped down lower to get a better view and could not mistake the open window and shadowy figure going through drawers in the dark. Oh, great, a burglar.

Falcon sighed, resigned. Tedious or not, she prided herself on her values: a criminal was a criminal, no matter the offense, and if she wanted to improve her public image, she was going to have to really stick to that. Even if she thought burglars were stupid.

The window turned out to be a French door upon closer inspection, which explained how the robber got in without too much effort. Being on the twelfth floor, the owners probably didn't think anyone would be crazy enough to break in through the balcony, and had left it conveniently unattended. Again with the stupidity, Falcon was a little annoyed that some people just had no concept of security. It was like she had to clean up everybody's messes for them.

She landed quietly on the balcony and sheathed her wings, hoping to catch him off guard. If there was something she could enjoy from this, Falcon loved provoking a reaction. The concept of men and women being hardened criminals was foreign to her as soon as heard their high-pitched cries of alarm. Some people just weren't as tough as they thought they were.

Crouching low, Falcon kept her eye on the dark figure as he darted to and fro, checking jewelry boxes, looking behind picture frames, and upending tall vases. He wasn't tearing the room apart, just checking every nook and cranny for something that could be hidden.

Falcon found this curious. Usually burglars weren't so courteous; they just knocked stuff over and hope they hit gold. But this guy was making it look as though he hadn't even been there after raiding the closet and locked drawers on the bedside tables. Falcon saw a diamond-speckled watch lifted from a velvet case and dropped into a dark bag. That had to cost a fortune.

The thief hadn't noticed her yet. Falcon found herself briefly stunned by the opulence of the room – a four poster bed with thick, satin sheets. Mahogany furniture and a gilded mirror. The entire space was almost as big as her apartment in Hell's Kitchen. Her radar stretched into the recesses of the closet, revealing a room that could have easily served as another place to sleep, but only contained dozens of shoes and suits.

Damn.

Falcon made herself focus and not get distracted by a lifestyle she dearly envied. _This is SO not fair..._The thief had his back to her and Falcon quickly ducked behind the bed that separated the space between them. Maybe Falcon could make this fast: scare the guy, tie him up, alert the police, and get the hell out of there before anyone knew she was here.

A slight breeze rustled the curtains, getting the thief's attention. Falcon stiffened, ducking her head before he could see her. The angle should keep her safe, she assumed, but in the back of her mind she wondered if maybe this was a bad idea.

Nonsense. He was a petty criminal. A petty criminal who's stealing from the twelfth floor of an Upper East Side apartment, but still.

He shouldn't be any harder than the gangsters she dealt with earlier that day.

The thief turned back around, his attention returning to a pretty ceramic box that rattled with unknown contents. He seemed to be considering just taking the entire thing, but was trying the lock first. This was Falcon's chance.

Using the bed as leverage, Falcon jumped up and lunged. She slammed into the thief at an angle, her shoulder meeting his and toppling him. The ceramic box went flying.

Before it could shatter against the ground, Falcon extended her hand and its descent halted mid-air. She let drop gently onto the soft mattress, then turned back to the thief in her grasp. Her fists were knotted in his leather jacket as she pinned him down, trying to decide what she should do next.

Her thought process was interrupted by the wide grin on the thief's face. What the hell? This completely boggled her mind. _No one _was ever happy to see Falcon, especially not crooks.

"Well, this party just got interesting." The man said, cocking his head to the side as he examined her. "And I have to be honest, getting manhandled by a girl isn't a very common pastime for me."

Falcon scowled at him. Most criminals just ran at the sight of her, maybe fight back if they were stupid enough, but only the brave ones got sassy. And criminals were never known for their bravery. She did not like this thief and the way his eyes sparkled like he had something to hide. He had _something_ up his sleeve, she just knew it.

"What?" he asked, smirking. He held out his hands, as if expecting something to happen. "No witty comeback? Isn't that something you heroes are supposed to be good at? Or maybe that's just Spider-Man."

"Oh, I'd love to give you the time of day," Falcon said as she extended her hand towards the fallen bag of stolen good, and brought one of the fallen trinkets into her palm. The thief watched in fascination as it passed through thin air, his eyes going wide. "But I think it's a little past your bed time."

"Charmed." The thief displayed perfect white teeth.

Then he disappeared in a wisp of black smoke. Falcon's knees thumped on empty ground as the thief literally slipped through her fingers. Startled, she jumped to her feet, whipping around in search of him. How that the thief slipped from her radar? No one could just _vanish_ like that.

Falcon was completely unprepared when he reappeared behind her and delivered a mighty blow, sending Falcon to the ground. Her shoulder took the brunt of the fall, sending jolts of pain up and down her arm.

A sharp intake of breath. Falcon still couldn't wrap her mind around his ability to teleport, to disappear, not only from sight but from her radar as well. _Nothing_ could do that, except perhaps bullets, but those made sense. Bullets simply moved too fast for her to register, which always made it more prudent to simply jam the gun than hope to dodge the shot.

"Oh, sorry, did I hurt you?" the thief's voice said somewhere above her, still invisible. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the trinkets being picked up again by invisible hands. "I hope that wasn't your face. It'd be a shame to ruin it."

There he was. Not a shade of black smoke, but merely hidden in the darkness. The thief probably had no idea how Falcon could sense him, thinking that perhaps the new moon would save him tonight.

Falcon just rolled her eyes and gritted her teeth, clutching her shoulder as she rolled back to her feet and ducked a hay-maker she couldn't see, moving under the invisible arm and slamming an elbow into his lower back. She earned a satisfying grunt and spun around, planting a foot into the back of his knee and forcing the thief down to the ground.

She already had the thief's now-visible arms pinned behind his back when the thief started to complain. "Hey, take it easy there, sweetheart. We haven't even introduced ourselves yet. Don't you want to know my name?"

Falcon glanced at the thing in his hand, a string of pearls and thick golden chain that ended with a large pocket-watch. "I'd like to know why you're stealing from innocent people. They've done you no wrong."

The thief laughed. "Bird girl, you've clearly mistaken the entire point of my career. They don't _need_ these things. I'm simply doing them a favor, helping them understand what's really important in life. Sure, telling them straight out might avoid jail time, but then my reputation would be ruined. A thief can be honorable, Falcon, but never honest."

He twisted around and broke out of her grip, retaliating by kicking her in the chest. Falcon gasped as her back smashed into the mahogany dresser. It cracked upon contact but she managed to flip over it, landing in a crouch on its surface. She had her back to the wall and the thief was clear to escape. He had disappeared in smoke again, but she could feel the movement of air through her radar.

"You still didn't answer my question, though," she slid back to her feet, trying to find him the darkness. The air currents didn't make it particularly specific as to his exact location. They kept moving and Falcon continued to scan the room. "Why do you need them?"

"Well, that's the funny part, isn't it?" the thief said, somewhere to her right, in the darker corner of the store. She edged towards him, walking across the top of the dresser. "I'm helping those in greater need."

Falcon stopped to stare at the spot where she was pretty sure he was standing. For a second, she was speechless. "Um…what?"

"Exactly," the thief replied, chuckling. "You see, the owner of this lovely little piece is a hedge fund manager – as of last month, he received a 2.3 million dollar bonus. He (or his wife, for that matter) won't miss a single thing. That's how it works. I only steal from those who can afford it, Falcon. Then I give it back to those less fortunate. I'm very efficient that way."

"How considerate," she muttered, jumping from the dresser to a shelf full of old books, bending her knees as it wobbled underneath her. She was about six feet from the thief now. "That totally didn't explain anything. Why, then, are _you_ doing this? From the sound of it, it doesn't seem like you're benefiting from this quite like your beneficiaries are."

"A man has to eat, doesn't he?" He asked, invisible hands examining a pure crystal ornament before setting it back down. "Falcon, my skills make me a very useful man to those who need things they can't acquire in the usual manner, so to speak."

"So you're a thief for hire,"

Falcon sensed him wincing at the accusation. "Well, to put it bluntly, yes. But I'm a man of sophistication and honor, Falcon. The misfortunate always come first."

"So, what, you're just a regular philanthropist?" Falcon had no idea why she wasn't taking him down by now, why she just continued the conversation instead of actually doing her job. Then again, she couldn't take down a cloud of smoke. "You must be the perfect thief, then."

"I'm flattered you think so, dove," for a split second, Falcon saw a smile hovering in thin air, disembodied in a cloud of black fog. It was bizarre and left her vulnerable when something smashed into the shelf she was standing on and sent her to the ground. Books tumbled over her. Falcon raised her arms to protect herself as a shadow fell near. "But you are hardly the perfect hero, I'm afraid. Girls like you are easy to turn. Help me out on this gig, and I'll split the take. 60-40, since you've got a pretty face."

His face was right next to hers. So close Falcon could see his breath fogging on her helmet. She could smell something sharp and fresh. Well, at least the thief invested in breath mints, which was a first. But Falcon was hardly charmed as she brought up her feet and slammed them into his chest, sending him over her head and crashing into the closet. "Not gonna happen, creep."

"That was cold, dove," the thief sounded honestly hurt, which only made Falcon more irritated. The faint light shown in through the window and she could see the thief pulling himself out of the wreckage of the doors, readjusting the domino mask across his eyes. Was he seriously attempting to manipulate her? "I'm just giving you a chance. My latest employer isn't very forgiving, I'm afraid, and I don't want a pretty face like yours get caught in the crossfire."

"Stop saying that!" she snapped, getting up. The books tumbled off her, delicate pages ripping and crumbling from the rough encounter. "You can't even see it."

"I'm pretty good at guessing." He said, grinning at her and dodging around another throw of her fist, grabbing the bag full of jewelry and priceless items. Falcon surged forward, extending a hand to grab a hold of the bag with her mind. She was _not_ going to let him get away with it.

Just then, the lights in the room blazed to life as the door burst open and a couple walked in. A man in a black suit shouted in alarm, as his wife in all her lavish finery gasped and stumbled back, looking faint. "Thieves!"

"Two's company, four's a crowd," the thief chirped, snapping the bag away and leaping out the window before any of them could react. The sudden burst in had Falcon stunned and she lost her grip on the bag.

Even worse, as soon as the thief hit open air, he burst into a cloud of smoke, dissipating into the wind and carried away out of sight. Falcon tried to follow, but it didn't take her long to understand that he had escaped. The thief had vanished once more into the darkness.

She lurched forward, chasing after the thief as the man behind her shouted, "Falcon just robbed us!"

_Fantastic_, Falcon groaned inwardly, unsheathing her wings and thrusting down. She shot into the night air, closing her eyes and wishing that she could just imagine it was a very bad dream. In her attempt to boost her reputation, Falcon had only succeeded in making herself like another wretched criminal. _That's just freaking great_.

Her luck really _was_ bad.

* * *

**Hope you enjoyed this! All reviews are appreciated.**

**Also, for anyone interested, I do have complementary images of Falcon on my DeviantArt account, if that's something you're looking for. The link is on my profile :)**


	23. Chapter 23: Divergent Thinking

**Chapter Twenty-Three**

**Divergent Thinking**

Word of Falcon becoming a criminal spread about as quickly as one would expect in city like New York. The media didn't necessarily sound surprised, so Falcon wasn't very impressed with herself, but she couldn't say the same for Spider-Man. One the front page of the _Daily Bugle_ was a picture of Spider-Man robbing a bank.

This had to be some sort of mistake. The first thing Falcon did that Saturday morning was search for the Webhead. She took to the skies, fully appreciating the bright, clear day. The sun shone brilliantly, turning Central Park into a venerable wonderland of color and joy. Far below, she could see kids playing in the leaves, chasing each other down walkways; people sitting on benches, watching as the ducks paddled across the pond. It looked so peaceful that Falcon would have gone there herself if she wasn't dressed up like New York's new super criminal.

She didn't dare swoop low enough to be spotted, only going down to stop any crimes she saw. Falcon decided that she'd do anything to get her rep back on track, even if it only meant to being considered an avenging vigilante and not a city-saving one. She wished that the media didn't have so much sway over her, but she couldn't deny that the 21st century was the age of new technology – if someone wanted to learn something, they had it within their power to find out all they wanted.

But the idea of talking to people in Falcon's identity had her creeped out. She wondered if she could do it and found it within herself that she would ruin the veneer she had developed over the past few months of being a stoic warrior of sorts. To voice her thoughts would be to open herself up to vulnerability, and Falcon couldn't afford that in this stage of her career. If the White Rose thought they discovered a weakness through her talking, they would surely take advantage of it.

Falcon wished she could use her words as weapons, like Spider-Man did. She tried not to think how much this made her a hypocrite, because she also thought he was annoying. But that _had_ to mean he was doing something right, didn't it?

Or maybe Falcon had a short temper, only aggravated by her early onset insanity. Did Spider-Man think she was going crazy? Falcon hoped not.

It took Falcon maybe an hour to find Spider-Man. She spotted him in Downtown Manhattan, which was perfect because Falcon didn't want to make a scene of this.

She swooped down, coming in fast. Falcon had about a three hundred foot drop, plenty of time to gain momentum and really pack some force into her tackle. The whistling of her narrowed wings made Falcon grin a little, especially when the Webhead never saw her coming.

Slamming into Spider-Man, she sent the two of them flying off course. He cried out in surprise as she angled their descent towards a landing of a skyscraper, near some windows but away from public access. There was a terrible clatter when they crash-landed, sending some of the metal siding skittering off. They tumbled on the slanted windows and came to a stop on the balcony, just stopping before the edge.

Sore from the impact but otherwise energized, Falcon pulled herself from the ground. Spider-Man was already complaining. "What the _hell_ was that for? Do you have something against a simple hello, or is that how you always greet people?"

"That's payback for the first time we met," she snapped, wiping dust and rubble from her suit. Falcon looked like a dusty museum statue – someone really needed to clean these buildings. "Besides, I've got a bone to pick with you. You suddenly into crime now?"

"That wasn't me!" Spider-Man protested, picking himself up from the dust. Falcon was a little startled by his appearance: an all-black suit with his white insignia. She couldn't tell what the material was made of. Falcon hadn't noticed it when she first saw Spider-Man because he had been swinging in the shadows, making it difficult to realize colors. "How many times do I have to keep saying that? And who're _you_ to sling stones, Little Miss Ninja Burglar?"

Falcon scowled, crossing her arms. She wasn't going to let Spider-Man in on her business just yet. "Then who was that in the red-and-blue get-up robbing a bank, huh?"

"An imposter, duh! Birdbrain, I have an alibi, okay?" Spider-Man hooked two thumbs at himself. "See this new suit? I've been wearing it for the past twenty-four hours, before that bank robbery ever took place."

Falcon approached him, getting a closer look at the suit. It looked so shiny and...strong. "Where'd you get it?"

"Let's just say I had some 'friendly access'," Spider-Man said, smugness leaking right through his weird inky suit. He planted fists on his hips. "What do you have to say to _that_, Birdbrain?"

She paused, glaring at him. Drawing away from the suit, Falcon was suddenly overcome with a creepy feeling down her back. There was a reason Spider-Man was throwing those words back in her face, and she was pretty sure she knew why. A part of her refused to believe in such an idea, but she knew there was only one way to confirm it.

Even if Spider-Man _was_ innocent of the bank robbery, he'd still have a lot to explain to Falcon if he really did manage to snag the alien goo. She took off from the roof without another word, leaving a surprisingly disgruntled Spider-Man behind. Little did she know, a part of the suit had recognized the taste of her emotions and had latched on to her skin.

OoOoO

I headed straight for ESU.

I tried to wrap my head around this new change. If Spider-Man's alibi was that he was at the labs during the bank robbery, where he got his swanky new suit, did that mean he stole it? It didn't exactly make his case any better, in my opinion: getting out of one crime with another. But why would Spider-Man steal something from the labs? I was sure he liked his red-and-blue suit. It was distinctive. It was him.

Both Eddie and Gwen were there. In the far corner was Dr. Connors and his wife, talking to a group of policemen taking their statements. Because Gwen and I still weren't talking, Eddie was the person I got the scoop from.

"It's Spider-Man!" he exclaimed as soon I entered through the doublewide doors, jabbing his finger at the empty glass cage on the other side of the room. I nearly fell out back out the door I was so surprised by his outburst. "He stole the symbiote!"

Eddie was so angry it was practically coming off him in waves – so powerful I could register it on my radar. That's strange. I was never able to sense emotions before, even in highly traumatic situations: I never felt an ounce of fear from the hostages, or the sheer terror of having a crazed robot woman shoot lasers at you. Even Eddie, who wore his heart on his sleeve, wasn't special. But now I could feel it and I wondered why that was.

"How do you know?" was the first thing I said, because I was afraid of being right. I didn't want Spider-Man to be the bad guy here. He actually enjoyed being a superhero so I didn't understand why he'd do a total 180. "Security footage."

"_Bugle_ pictures!" he shouted right back and a wave of nausea hit me at the same time. Holy crap, anger issues. Had Eddie always been like this and my once-dull radar couldn't detect it? I wasn't sure I liked this new emotion thing I had going on. Mine were enough to handle. "Parker caught the entire thing, but not once did he think to call the police! It was long gone by the time the alarms went off."  
"Peter took the pictures?" Peter taking pictures of Spider-Man wasn't odd. Not calling the police was a little strange. But he wasn't exactly a person I would consider very responsible. "Are you sure?"

To prove his point, Eddie stuck the newest _Bugle_ in my face. Indeed, there was a picture of Spider-Man, along with some cat lady I've never seen before. Oh, good, another thief, like I haven't had my fair share all ready. Under the picture was credited Peter's name, but the angle was all wrong. I took a look around the lab, trying to figure out where Peter had taken them.

The picture was angled down, but there was no second floor or loft in the lab. He must've taken it from the window. But how did he get up there? I looked up, analyzing the windows. My radar told me they didn't open and weren't strong enough to support the body of a teenage boy for very long. Had he been laying down across it the entire time, just waiting for something to happen? I found it strange how Peter seemed to know exactly the spot where the theft would have taken place.

How could he have gotten onto the roof? There was janitorial access, but Peter lost privilege to ESU a while ago. He wouldn't have been allowed access to the roof. And I didn't think there was any outside ladder or staircase to get up there on his own.

"Hmm," I said to myself, holding the picture up in the place I suspected Peter had the camera at. "How did he get up there?"

"Does it matter?" Eddie crossed his arms, scowling. Clearly not in the mood to wonder reasonably how Peter had taken the pictures, merely the fact that he had and failed to report the crime. Fair enough. "Point is, now Dr. Connors lost his one chance to get his reputation back, and it's all Peter's fault!"

I looked at Eddie, letting my raised arm fall to my side. I remembered when Peter and Eddie used to be like brothers. Hell, Eddie was practically a body guard to Peter in the first couple years of high school. It was why I had a crush on the guy – he was never afraid to stick up to Flash and the other bullies. But Eddie didn't look like the same person anymore. For a second, I wondered if I still liked him.

Gwen was watching our conversation. I glanced at her and she looked away, as if she had been minding her own business the entire time. I wanted to know what she'd say about this, about Peter's behavior, but it didn't feel right to ask. Not after our argument. Besides, this was hardly the first time Peter had done something a little bizarre before.

Suddenly, I had déjà vu. I couldn't remember where he was at the time this all went down. It was just like the case at Brooklyn Labs. Peter vanished, Spider-Man showed up to save the day, and then Peter came back with pictures of the entire thing. I had never once seen him taking pictures of Spider-Man, in action. Either he was a master at hide-and-seek or something else was going on.

I had never seen Spider-Man and Peter in the same room together. Granted, there were a lot of people I haven't seen in the same room as Spider-Man, but that's not the point. Peter supposedly took pictures of the superhero; Spider-Man let him. But I've never seen Peter in action, not in any of the situations I was with Spider-Man. He had the pictures, all right, but I've never actually seen him take them.

Maybe I should ask to go with him sometime. See how he did it. How he got away with the ESU theft. Because I still felt a sense of loyalty to Eddie and probably less animosity for Peter, who was kind of an idiot sometimes, I said, "I'll talk to Pete, Eddie. I can ask him why he didn't call the police. I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation to all this."

I didn't know why I added that last part. Maybe I just wanted their old brotherhood back.

"Yeah, you do that," Eddie muttered, looking away to glare at the corner. "Meanwhile, the rest of us are lined up for the chopping block. I wouldn't be surprised if the whole place was shut down."

I didn't think the science community would be so drastic, but I could offer no condolences otherwise.

I left soon after, still without a word to Gwen. I felt bad, but I had priorities. _She's not important right now_, a voice in my head told me. _You're reputation is in dire straits. Find the thief, and make him pay._

The voice was very persuasive.

OoOoO

Falcon did not plan on the thief finding her first.

She had spent the rest of the day looking for him, but her hopes weren't high. He seemed so professional, Falcon doubted he would risk capture in daylight. She feared she might have to spend the night patrolling just to catch a glimpse of him. The very idea exhausted her.

Already tired with the back and forth that morning, Falcon took a break on top of St. Patrick's Cathedral to rest her arms. She crouched low on the gargoyle, watching the milling pedestrians and traffic gridlock on the streets below.

"Well, well, well, look what the cat dragged in," said a voice behind her. Falcon spun around, finding him leaning against the wall of the cathedral in a classic rebel pose. There was an impish grin on his tilted head. "How are you enjoying your newfound infamy?"

"I'm not," Falcon once more wished her expression could be read through her helmet; she was stuck with crossing her arms and trying to look intimidating in the bright sunlight. "What do you want? Shouldn't you be stealing from the rich and giving to the poor right now?"

"Oh, I'd love to," the thief chuckled, his shoulders shaking slightly. In the daylight, Falcon could clearly make out what he was wearing. A brownish-gray suit made out of a rough fabric with patches at his knees. Light boots, tousled thick black hair, and a leather jacket completed the look. Falcon was somewhat disappointed with the drab color scheme, but she had to admit that the light stubble really defined his jaw line. "And I'd love it even more if you joined me. But I've found myself at an impasse. After our little adventure together last night, the media has gotten the strange idea that I'm your sidekick. And I'm _no one's _sidekick, dove."

Falcon briefly considered embracing her new criminal identity if it meant humiliating the thief. But she tossed the idea aside a few seconds later – she wasn't going to let herself get distracted by this idiot. "So?"

"Dove, no client in their right mind is going to a hire a so-called 'sidekick'." He made air-quotes for the last word. "And no doubt they're suspicious why New York's very own Silent Guardian has turned to a life of crime. Now I'm not getting work, and if I don't get work, I start to lose my reputation, and if I lose my reputation, I won't get work. It's a vicious circle, you see."

"Again, why should I care?"

"You're an upstanding heroine, Falcon. I only assumed you wanted your old reputation back as well. Am I wrong?"

Falcon hated to give the thief both the advantage and satisfaction of the truth. Once she admitted it, she would reveal a vulnerability he could exploit. But she needed him to get her name cleared. She sighed. "No. What did you have in mind?"

"I'm so pleased you asked, dove," the thief grinned again. He pulled away from the wall and opened in his arms in a welcoming gesture, as if he expected a hug. Falcon did not oblige. "I'm going to make you an offer you can't refuse."

"It doesn't involve blowing my brains out, does it?" Falcon asked, suddenly a little apprehensive. The way he quoted a _Godfather_ movie didn't sound like a joke.

"What? No." the thief threw her a strange look, like she had just proposed an insane idea. Falcon felt pretty justified, since a certain mafia family was out to get her. "You watch too many movies. Meet me here, midnight tonight. Don't be late."

"Wait!" Falcon realized a second too late what was about to happen and jumped forward, arms outstretched to stop him. But the thief was gone in a poof of smoke, her hands swiping through nothing but empty space. She turned around shouting into the air, "You didn't tell me your name!"

It was too late. He was gone.


	24. Chapter 24: Double Blind

**Sorry this took two weeks, I've got finals. But here's the next chapter. Enjoy!**

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Four

Double Blind

Falcon returned to the cathedral that night, cold and expectant. Whatever the thief had in mind for getting back both their original reputations, she wasn't sure; she didn't know if it mattered, so long as it worked.

She didn't carry a watch, but had the bell tower to rely on. She arrived shortly after it stroke 11 o'clock and waited. Falcon decided she'd rather be here early and catch a glimpse of the thief than show up late and never get a chance to see him again. Falcon doubted he would give up the chance to get his old clientele back, but she couldn't be sure. Perhaps he always had a back-up plan up his sleeve, always prepared for whatever excursion that may arise. Falcon knew for certain that her only back-up plan was going on the offensive – plans weren't exactly her thing, and she never had a lot of time to think ahead beyond the nearest fight or two.

But Falcon knew about goals and delayed gratification. Once she had her mother back, Falcon could leave all this behind and return to her old life. No more Falcon, no more crime-fighting. All this was just a means to an end. She had patience and she would do whatever it took to achieve those ends.

Spider-Man could save all the people he wanted, the entire city if that was what gave him some sort of sense of accomplishment. He seemed to truly enjoy this work and although Falcon respected that, she was not the same. Once this was over, she'd never put on the suit again.

Eventually, the bell gonged midnight. She waited for it to be over, but the thief was nowhere to be seen. It was difficult to see anything high above the street lights and her radar wasn't telling her anything. The new emotion thing had Falcon so freaked out that she couldn't even walk on the streets in her civvies without getting bombarded with the emotions of every New Yorker in the vicinity. Being high up here was a relief on her senses.

"I knew you were anxious to get back on the superhero A-list," the voice chuckled behind her, somewhere within the bell tower. His voice echoed across the stony walls. "But this is a little ridiculous. Had I known you were crazy about me, dove, I would've arrived sooner."

"Don't kid yourself," Falcon turned around, stepping pass the stone arches onto the wood catwalk surrounding the giant cast iron bell. He was here, somewhere in the shadows. Falcon couldn't locate the source of his voice. "I just want to get this over with. Hopefully, we'll never meet again after this little scheme."

"You cut me to the quick, darling," the thief protested, sounding honestly hurt as he emerged from a dark corner, materializing out of the shadows like some sort of specter. Falcon jumped at the sight. It looked like he had just walked out of the wall itself. "Not even a little bit of coffee, a good old Yankee hotdog afterwards?"

"Just spit it out, already," Falcon snapped, getting annoyed with the thief's antics. She wasn't up for witty banter tonight, especially not the particularly flirtatious kind the thief was leaning towards. She had waited three whole hours after dinner, waiting for Aunt May to fall asleep, before slipping out the window. The time she spent waiting was spent worrying and pacing, much to the annoyance of Peter, who was doing his homework. At least he was too busy with that to notice she had left the house. "What's your grand plan for tonight?"

"You sure you want to know?" The thief paced around the bell, tilting his head and giving her an impish smile as he leaned nearer. "I'm not sure you'll like it."

"If it gets the job done, I won't complain," she told him.

He nodded, conceding the point. Because Falcon refused to acknowledge his banter, he stepped away, saying, "All right, if you say so. I heard from a source of mine – a very reliable one, mind you – that a certain Oriole Kane has chosen this night to leave work a little early, to go to a particular gala up at swanky OSCORP tower. Meanwhile, there's a certain piece of InTec software stored in her office that I'd like to get my hands on."

"So I'm going to let you steal InTec software?" Falcon asked, bewildered at the proposition. Letting a thief, even this one, get away with a crime didn't sound worth it. And why Oriole Kane? Falcon had mostly forgotten about her ever since the APEX incident.

"No, dove, don't you understand?" the thief shook his head like she were a child asking too many questions. "You're going to _stop_ me, okay? The security cameras will catch us fighting over the software, you prove to the police you had nothing to do with me, and then Bob's your uncle! Everyone thinks you're a hero again."

"And do you run away with the software or do I give it back to Kane?" she asked.

"Depends on how good you are, Falcon." The thief grinned, striding out the bell tower onto a gargoyle. He stood at the very edge, then turned to her and said, "So tell me: Are you up for the challenge?"

And in a gust of wind, the thief disappeared.

"Hey, no fair!" Falcon realized a second too late that for the first time, the thief wasn't joking around. Not about to be made a fool of herself by some low-life thief, she surged forward, practically throwing herself off the tower. Unsheathing her wings, Falcon caught a strong wind and soared, shooting high before she could control her flight pattern. She didn't know how fast the thief would make it to APEX tower, but got there in less than two minutes.

The top of the building was a tall pyramid, a large skylight into the dining hall below. Around it were corners of flat roof that she was capable of landing on. Looking through the glass, she recognized it as the ballroom where she first made her appearance as Falcon. Oriole Kane's office wasn't here – where would the thief be?

He appeared out of the darkness beside her. For once, he looked serious. "That was fast. You ready for this?"

"I've been ready since this morning."

"That's adorable," The thief smirked. He walked over to the edge, looking down at the great expanse of dark windows. She followed him, keeping an eye out for anything suspicious. A few were scattered with light, but many of the building's occupants had left by now. "All right, Kane's office is on the 103rd floor – I'll break in, set off the alarm. That way, it looks like you heard the sound and came to the rescue. If you show up before, the police might think we're still functioning as a team."

"Still?" she looked at him.

The thief rolled his eyes. "You know what I mean. As far as they're concerned, we are very much an item."

"That's not funny."

He just shook his head, disappointed. "I wish a sense of humor was something I could steal, because I'd give it to you."

"I'm touched," Falcon replied while suppressing a smile. She almost had herself charmed, but knew better than to entertain that idea. She shook her head, clearing it of any distracting thoughts. "L-look, can we just get a move on? I want to get this over as quickly as possible. I can't believe I'm actually doing this."

"You better start believing, dove," The thief winked at her, as if sharing some in-joke with her she wasn't privy to. He shifted with the wind, fading away as he said, "It only gets better from here on out."

Falcon sat back on her heels as he disappeared once more. The act was getting old, but there was nothing more frustrating than working with a criminal she couldn't catch. She doubted handcuffs or a jail cell could keep this guy contained. That was probably why he was still out here and not in Belle Rev.

It was cold and quiet up here and Falcon rubbed her arms, for once wishing for company. Even worse, she wanted the thief to talk to. Even Spider-Man would be tolerable. Falcon didn't like this loneliness. She hated how much she had gotten used to it.

_But you don't need anyone_, said that little voice in her head. _Never have, never will. _

Right. Falcon inhaled, taking in the fresh, cold air. A one-woman show. She didn't need anyone, just herself and her powers. Together, she could solve all her problems.

...Eventually.

She closed her eyes, consoling her nerves with memories of her mother. Someday, they'll be back together and everything will be right in the world. Everything will be easy and simple, like it used to be. No more bantering superheroes, rampaging supervillains, or charming thieves after her own heart. No more powers, no more fear of insanity. All Falcon wanted was normalcy once more.

Falcon was in the middle of a reverie when the alarm shocked her back into reality. She stumbled on her perch, at first forgetting where she was and why she was there. Then it hit her like a runaway subway car and she lunged off the building's ledge, snapping out her wings so fast her shoulder and arm muscles protested at the sudden wind resistance.

She swooped down to the line of windows filled with flashing red lights. Falcon didn't even think before blasting it with a mental force wave. The glass shattered instantly, seconds before she careened inside. Rolling to absorb the fall, Falcon landed in a crouch, taking in the dark, sleek office in a matter of seconds. Her radar picked up everything in an instance.

The thief was not there.

Damn! Had Falcon actually given him the easy way out by breaking that window? If he could turn to shadow or darkness, _literally_, then it would be a cinch for him to escape. What was she _thinking_?

Falcon wanted to kick herself, but then felt a disturbance on her radar. Her head snapped in that direction, alert for any movement. Her eyes flicked across the room, her breathing soft.

Five long seconds passed, Falcon remaining absolutely still, a rabbit in a wide open field sensing an incoming attack. When nothing happened, she was just about to move when her radar pinged in the opposite direction.

_What the...?_ That one was much farther away than the first. She couldn't tell if it was the same thing or person moving. It was in another room, almost on the other side of the building. Not even the thief could move that fast. Maybe he was wrong and there was someone else in the building.

But nothing else came in that direction and Falcon's attention was averted by the noise out in the hall. She reacted instantly, running forward and sheathing her wings. Skidding into the hall, she saw a heel disappearing around the corner and tore after it. The thief thought he was clever by hiding in a ventilation shaft, but he had absolutely no idea what she was capable of.

"Whoa!" he cried as the metal grate and surrounding ceiling plaster was sent crashing down, him following right after. The thief hit the ground with a loud thump, the object he was carrying dislodged from his arms. "How did you do that? You didn't even see me?"

Falcon caught the object with her mind and brought it to her hands, ignoring his question. The object was a laptop, sleek and top of the line. Just something a person like Oriole Kane would own. It even had OSCORP's logo on its top.

Wait, OSCORP?

Falcon took a step back, frowning at the laptop. "Why would Kane own OSCORP tech when her own company makes laptops?"

"Maybe because OSCORP is richer and more advanced," The thief grunted as he pulled himself to his feet. He rubbed the back of his head, apparently having taken a hard blow when he had landed. "So what?"

"If it's an OSCORP laptop, it would have OSCORP software on it," Falcon told him, pointing to the laptop with her free hand. She gave the thief a hard look, even though he couldn't see it. The effect must have been intimidating nonetheless, because he took a step back. But Falcon knew for certain she was right – Harry often had the tech his father made, and it always carried OSCORP software, no matter the product. "If this is the software belongs to OSCORP, why steal it from a woman from a rival company...unless it's not the software you're after."

"Doll, it's not what it looks like..." it had to be the oldest line in the book, and a not very convincing one at that. They both knew it. The thief just shrugged, knowing his cover was blown. "It's just another client, I didn't ask questions, I just get paid. Can you blame me?"

But Falcon wasn't going to buy it. The voice inside her head said, _He's lying. We both know it. Just look at him. He thinks you're just another dumb girl playing a part. _

"What's on the laptop?" she demanded, taking one menacing step forward. "I'm not stupid, I know you know. Spit it out. Tell me. Now."

Her tone did not invite compromise. The thief stared at her, for once at a loss for words. Falcon gauged his reaction, deciding that if he wasn't going to inform her, she could very well do it on her own. "Fine. I'll just open it and find it myself. Shouldn't be too hard...after all, I know a backdoor that's installed in all of OSCORP's software."

Harry had shown her that backdoor, when a problem with the school's computers (made by OSCORP, obviously) prevented her from printing her homework. She never thought she'd use that same information to break the law. Falcon almost found herself hesitating, but that small little voice in her head convinced her to move forward. _What do you have to lose? The thief lied to you – we have every right to know what's going on._

"No, wait!" he lunged forward, trying to snatch the laptop from Falcon's hands. She easily dodged him, side-stepping as he over-balanced and stumbled into the wall behind her. He turned and for once that charming veneer was gone. His expression was utter desperation and it actually gave Falcon pause. "Trust me, you don't want to know what's on there."

"Either you're telling me or the computer is," Falcon replied, opening the screen and turning on the laptop. She waited for it to boot, meanwhile avoiding the thief's subsequent attempts to retrieve the machine. "Your choice."

"Falcon, I-I can't –" he tried, wringing his hands in last ditch attempt to persuade her. "Let's just back to the original plan, okay? Pretend this never happened..."

"I bet that's what your clients say all the time," she snapped, completely cold to all attempts at her withdrawal. Falcon had no idea who the thief was working for and she figured finding out what they wanted was as good a place to start as any. "Telling a witness to turn the other cheek, bribing a dirty cop to destroy the evidence..."

Falcon was about to go on, really tear this guy apart, until her radar pinged. It caught her attention – up till now, they were all alone; no guards, no personnel, no one. The only thing that reminded them that danger was imminent was the constant blinking red lights and siren. It would still take the police time to get up to this floor, so Falcon had no idea who else was up here. She understood even less how they could flash across her radar fast enough to almost completely avoid detection. Whoever – or whatever – it was, they weren't human.

The ping had silenced her and it had not gone unnoticed. The thief froze almost the same moment she did, but was the first to speak. "Uh, Falcon...?"

"Shh!" she hissed at him, holding up a finger and staring at the wall – the direction of the ping. She was sure she had heard something, a low buzz, but she lost it when the thief spoke. She found it again easily enough...was it getting louder? "Do you hear that?"

"You – you just told me to be quiet..." the thief gave her an uncomprehending look, shrugging his shoulders helplessly. "I don't know if you want me to answer, or..."

"Never mind," she muttered, backing away. She held up her hand before the thief could follow her movements. Falcon still wasn't sure the source of the ping was gone. She had to see who it would go after. "Don't move. I don't think we're alone."

"What are you talking about?" the thief shook his head, the previous trepidation he had replaced by a new ease. He clearly thought Falcon had lost, talking crazy. She didn't appreciate the doubt. "Falcon, the police are still a long way off. If there's someone else up here, it's probably just someone working late. Nothing we can't handle."

"No, it's different," Falcon knew what her radar had sensed and was not backing down from her standpoint. "Come on, that buzzing noise is definitely getting louder. Can't you hear it?"

"Dove, I'm not hearing anything but your voice."

There was his good old fashioned charm again, back in full force. Falcon rolled her eyes, frustrated with her choice of teammate. If this were Spider-Man, he would have definitely taken her more seriously. Maybe actually believe her, since he had that weird bug sense of his. But Spider-Man wasn't here and this thief wasn't out for the good will of others. He would steal the laptop the first chance he got.

Another ping, now below her. Falcon snapped her head down, surprised. _What in the world_? The buzzing was getting louder but she couldn't discern its location. Not two seconds later did she feel the floor tremble ever so slightly. It was enough to get Falcon to spring into action.

She didn't even cry out a warning before, throwing herself at the unsuspecting thief. He didn't even have time to think of phasing before she slammed into him, throwing the both of them out of way just in time for the floor beneath them to explode.

"What the hell!" Falcon couldn't be sure if he was reacting to her tackle or sudden explosion. Either way, he was gone in a flash of black smoke, impervious to the debris in the air. Falcon still had the laptop clutched to her chest, but when she rolled over to see what had just burst through the tile, she wanted to drop it and run.

There, standing over her, was Dr. Grace, in all her mechanical glory.

"_Ah, Falcon_," Dr. Grace tilted her head, appraising the hero with glowing yellow eyes in a featureless face. There were only the vaguest impressions of a nose and cheekbones, a shadow of Dr. Grace's human face. Falcon very much doubted that it had anything to do with the soul stuck inside. "_It appears as though we both wish to acquire the same object. But my needs outweigh your own by 120%. I will consider mercy if you surrender the portable computer immediately._"

"Um," Falcon couldn't really think of any witty comebacks at the moment. "No."

"_Then you have sealed your own fate,_" Dr. Grace replied, raising a white-metal-encased arm. A small canon unfolded itself from her wrist and started to hum menacingly. As if Falcon needed another indication she was about to be obliterated, the barrel of the canon started to glow with a warming charge.

Quite suddenly, without any warning, Falcon felt two arms wrap around her waist. This was physically impossible to her very logical mind – up against the floor, there was no room for another body to be present. But they were there nonetheless and when they yanked down, she yelped, tightening her grip on the laptop as she was literally pulled _through_ the floor.

For a terrifying split second, Falcon couldn't breathe. She couldn't describe the sensation of passing through solid floor because she was too busy panicking. If anything, it was like being strained through a sieve, or passing through a particularly claustrophobic waterslide tube.

She heard the blast of empty tile being destroyed and opened her eyes. No longer Dr. Grace's target, Falcon found herself in the surprisingly sturdy arms of the thief. He was smiling at her the whole time, "Hello, have we met before?"

"Just put me down!" she snapped at him.

"Your wish is my command, princess," he said before unceremoniously dropping her onto the floor. As Falcon grunted and rubbed her sore tailbone, he bowed and said, "Wish granted."

Falcon picked herself up. Then she realized that both her arms were empty and Dr. Grace hadn't continued to attack her. She paused, looking around, before saying: "Um, where's the laptop?"

The thief stared at her. "It's still up there. I can't phase inanimate objects through solid obstacles."

"What about your clothes? And the smoke thing you do?" she demanded, pointing, trying very hard not to panic. There was a hole in the ceiling a few feet away, where Dr. Grace had burst through earlier. Falcon couldn't sense her on her radar anymore. "Where did she go?"

"Look, clothes are the best thing I can do! Small objects, but not entire people! You're the first person I tried that on! You're lucky you didn't get cut in half or something!" The thief started protesting but Falcon was no longer stopped to listen. He must've been pretty insulted by her remark because he followed her as she jumped back onto the previous floor. "Hey, wait! Where are you going?"

"What the hell do you think?" Falcon yelled, figuring out where Dr. Grace went by the very unsubtle path of broken walls and windows she left behind. She was already running across broken glass as she shouted, "I'm getting that laptop back!"

Taking to the air, Falcon caught a draft and went high. Locating Dr. Grace was surprisingly easy. She had barely made it to the next skyscraper before getting intercepted by Falcon. She didn't even have to touch the android to get the laptop back – it was suddenly yanked out of those robot arms and Falcon was about half a block away before she started receiving heavy fire from Dr. Grace.

"_Return that laptop to me, human!_" Dr. Grace demanded, the rocket boosters on her feet propelling her much fast than Falcon could anticipate. Soon they were flying side by side, and she found it very difficult to avoid the bolts of energy with large wings attached to her arms. "_Or I shall destroy you along with that computer!_"

"What's so important about a stupid laptop!" Falcon was dying to know why not one, but _two _people were after it. It was hard enough just trying not to drop it while under a lot of heat. Falcon had to know what made it so valuable. "Someone else was trying to steal it, too!"  
"_Ha!_" If an android could laugh, Dr. Grace made a very poor (and rather creepy) attempt. As Falcon thrust upwards, the android followed, easily keeping up. They were soon shooting far past the tops of skyscrapers and into the cold night sky. "_Dr. Kane was a fool to leave her compound so incompetently protected! The information you hold against your chest is the key to the next stage of my evolution! It is the keystone that will allow me to bring my endgame to fruition!_"

Falcon was a little bewildered by this declaration. Shouldn't bad guys _avoid_ telling the heroes their plans, especially considering how careful Dr. Grace would keep her plans together. "Why are you telling me this? Aren't you afraid that I might stop you?"

"_You are hardly a threat_!" Dr. Grace cackled, zipping around Falcon like a corkscrew and firing more shots. Falcon could barely keep up and was afraid of being drawn to the point she could fly no higher. Dr. Grace barely avoid smashing into a police helicopter, immediately getting their attention and just giving Falcon another headache to worry about. "_No man, woman, or child can stop the inevitable fate of this city! You have no clue, Falcon, of how truly lost you humans are! The plan is already in motion, and once the dominoes start to fall, they cannot be stopped! My allies have assured me this!"_

"Allies?" Falcon shouted over the heavy wind. The chopper was making a constant beating noise that made it hard for her to think. As she darted through the air, avoiding Dr. Grace's attacks with closer and closer misses, Falcon continued to climb. She could feel the ice in her lungs, the new weight on her wings. Was it her, or was breathing getting harder? "Why would you side with other humans?"

"_You misunderstand!_" the city was a patch of lights beneath them now. Falcon had never quite experienced vertigo, not quite like this. "_They are no more aware of my plans than you are, Falcon! They, too, are powerless to stop me!_"

This time, when Falcon tried to draw breath, she was terrified to find that it barely filled her mouth, let along her lungs. She could not find enough oxygen to support the amount of energy she needed to continue. Even now, the chopper was far below, their light shining faintly on them. Falcon could feel her arms tiring, the first time in weeks, and saw stars – the bad kind – flash in front of her eyes.

"_Even now, you're weak human body betrays you!_" If Dr. Grace could smile, she would most certainly be doing so right now. Falcon, unable to climb higher, laptop clinging to her chest with mind alone, could only flap uncertainly in place, trying to gasp for more air. _"I can continue on into the vast reaches of outer space! This is not a fight you can win, Falcon! Surrender!_"

"No!" It sounded so childish, made even worse by her high, weak voice. Falcon had to get back down, but that would mean giving Dr. Grace the advantage. No sooner would Falcon descend than she get shot in the back. "I – I won't!"

"_Your stubbornness is admirable,_" Dr. Grace circled around her, ceasing fire as she analyzed Falcon, considering her next move. Falcon felt like a test subject, an interesting science project, under the android's cold gaze. "_But it is all for naught. You would have made a reliable aide had you put your efforts in more worthy endeavors. I should have destroyed you long ago."_

"Then why... haven't you?" Falcon felt lightheaded, having to take deep breaths in the middle of her sentences. They were no longer shouts, just barely gasped words. But even before Dr. Grace could answer, Falcon knew what it was. The reason she wasn't dead right now was the fact that Dr. Grace relied on the survival of the laptop more than she let on. She would not harm Falcon so long as it was in her possession. She would no longer pursue Falcon if she no longer had it.

That meant only one logical, if reluctant, conclusion Falcon had to make.

It hurt to do it. Actual pain, reluctance to even make herself give in and push the laptop away from her chest, offer it in the space between her and the android. Panting heavily, Falcon told her in a hoarse voice, "If you want it, come and take it."

"_Hm. I knew you would see reason eventually_," Dr. Grace sighed with approval. She slowly approached, the engines on her feet guttering in the wind. She extended a long fingered, metal hand towards the flat piece of hardware. "_Perhaps you will be of some use to me aftera–"_

An inch from her hands, the laptop trembled. Then, all of a sudden, a terrible crack filled the air as it ruptured in half. The metal, plastic, and chrome in the computer tore itself apart, rendering its contents to tiny shreds of what they once were. Nothing, not even the hard drive, was left to salvage. There was utter silence as the pile of scrap left was dropped – falling, with increasing speed, straight into the Hudson river.

"No!" Falcon didn't expect two voices to shout the same word at once. She looked around, bewildered by the fact that their standoff was not of two people, but three. However, Falcon could not see the witness in the eternal darkness at this height.

She didn't have to. Falcon knew there was only one person it could be.

"_You tricked me!_" The android shrieked, and Falcon couldn't deny she thought Dr. Grace actually sounded impressed beneath all that fury. She jabbed a finger at Falcon, her entire form shaking with barely contained emotion a so-called android shouldn't feel. "_You shall pay for your rebellion, Falcon. You will be the first to suffer in the onslaught I shall wreak upon this city! You have not stopped my plans, only stalled them for a brief time!" _

And with that, she was gone.

Falcon watched as the android disappeared in a flash of light, zipping off into the distance. She heaved a sigh of relief, satisfied in knowing her impromptu plan had worked. She folded her wings to her body and let herself drop, a human shaped missile heading straight down with whistling speed.

As she feel, Falcon's relief turned quickly to anger. _Even though I won, I lost! I don't have the laptop, I have no idea why either the thief or the android wanted it. This whole night was completely pointless!_

She unfolded her wings about a hundred meters before the first skyscraper. Falcon carried herself down, allowing for large breaths of air to refill the oxygen in her blood. Arms still exhausted, Falcon found a break on the old cathedral towers. Not surprisingly, the thief was waiting for her. And he was undeniably ticked.

"You destroyed it!" he shouted as soon as she stepped onto the gargoyle. He remained somewhere in the darkness, but the anger was easy to detect. "How could you?"

The anger. So strong, so easy. In fact, Falcon found herself drawn to it, inexplicably finding it both delicious and beautiful. _What the hell_? She caught herself as she was approaching him. _What am I doing? _But she felt no sympathy for the thief, and told him with as much emotion she didn't feel, "You were there, you knew I didn't have any options. If you didn't want me to destroy it, you could have helped. But instead, you thought you wait until after we duked it out to steal the spoils. You're very lucky that I _can't_ manipulate sentient beings, otherwise it would be _you_, instead of that laptop, in a billion unidentifiable pieces."

That got him. Falcon watched with a quiet smirk as he stumbled back, alarmed by the threat. "Look, I'm sorry I didn't help. Honestly, if I was any good in a fight, I wouldn't be stuck as a thief. But Falcon, you have no idea the people you've just pissed off. They'll come after you, and trust me, they don't waste bullets."

"Yeah, so?" She demanded, spitting out the words with a newfound venom. The voice in the back of her head urge her on, prodding Falcon to continue her rant. "That would just make it easier for you, wouldn't it? Wouldn't have to worry about people like me ruining your jobs, right? I don't see why you're so opposed to the idea."

They glared at each other, her gaze much more vehement than his. After a short while, he quailed, looking away. Falcon huffed, feeling success, until he asked in a tone so soft she almost didn't hear him: "Why did you want to know my name?"

"What?" the question caught her off guard. Falcon stared at him, scowling. "What does that have to do with anything?" then she realized what his question implied and almost shouted, with self-righteous fury, "Wait, you heard me and didn't say anything? You jerk! I thought you were gone by that time!"

But she found herself almost laughing at the end of that sentence. Falcon couldn't believe herself. Her emotions were doing crazy things to her head. Why did she think it was so funny? Why was the thief smiling? Why was _she_ smiling? Not even the voice in her head knew what to say to this. "All right, I don't know why I asked! I wanted something to call you by because that's just what I wanted to know? I mean, it's a thing a decent person would ask, isn't it? It's not that big of a deal."

"No, I guess not," the thief shook his head, backing away from her. He stepped outside, onto the gargoyle, giving her one last smile before disappearing on the wind. "Let's call it a night. You need your beauty sleep, anyways."

Falcon crossed her arms, not sure what to make of this. She was still angry at the thief, but she couldn't decide what her feelings actually were. The brief moment of laughter had sent her thoughts skittering out of control and diffused the entire situation – but she was sure that voice would come back and remind her what was important.

As leaned against the stone wall on the outside of the tower, thinking it over, she heard something, no fainter than a whisper. It could have easily been mistaken by the wind. But Falcon could not forget those words.

"_They call me Smoke._"

OoOoO

I couldn't think straight when I got home.

My emotions still hadn't settled. One moment I was happy with stalling Dr. Grace's plans (whatever they were), the next confused with what Smoke's motivations were (is that even his real name?), and constant wonder about what was in that laptop (what the hell was Dr. Kane hiding?) Somehow, I knew there was more going on behind the curtain. I just didn't know how to open it.

But at the moment, I was furious.

Smoke tricked me! I just knew it. The voice in the back of my head kept telling me _He's using you. He's using you! Don't trust him! The only person you can trust is yourself!_

Boy, was it right. What the hell was I thinking, becoming vulnerable in front of him? He's probably romanced dozens of other women, older and smarter than me, and I'm just another easy catch. Hell, someone's probably hired him for that exact reason. Seduce me into thinking he actually cares – then leaving me open for the big attack!

There was no honor among thieves. I should've known that. Smoke was no different.

As soon as I slipped back through the window, I ripped my helmet off and threw it at the bed. It was a better idea than throwing it at the wall, because that would wake up Aunt May and Peter, something I'd rather like to avoid.

I stormed through the room, tearing off my gloves and slamming them into the floor. I had my hands running through my hair, pulling and tearing, before I realized something had pinged on my radar.

I looked around. It was a noise, a small tinkling sound – coming from my gloves. I picked them up but found nothing broken. My anger was momentarily abated by confusion.

What was that? Had my radar gone faulty again? I was sure I felt _something_...

I scanned the floor, closing the range on my radar to increase sensitivity. Several minutes I stood stock still, examining every inch of the floor with my eyes closed. Concentrating, it took me some time to find an anomaly under my bed. Aside from the usual dust bunnies and odd textbook, there was a small metal object I was unfamiliar with.

I remained where I was, pulling at it with my mind. The object mustn't have been any longer than my thumb, and when it finally emerged from beneath the covers, I saw that it was a flash drive. Had that been in my gloves the entire time? How could I have never sensed it before?

Upon further inspection, I realized it was made of the same metal as my feathers. Hidden within some secret compartment or pocket in the glove, I probably wouldn't have picked up on it. After all the fights I've been in, the flying and falling, that last impact must have finally dislodged the drive.

But who put it there? And why?

My immediate hypothesis was Dr. Kane. She had something to hide, I just knew it. Syndicon and super soldier experiments and the weird lab accident in Brooklyn. Could it all be connected? My knowledge of movie drama said yes, while my rational brain said no. At least, not until I had verifiable evidence.

And this flash drive could be it.

I didn't wait around to find out. Sitting down at my desk, turning on my computer, I plugged the drive into the port. The desktop screen went black even before I could click on the icon. Then my speakers buzzed to life – a video file?

Then the screen changed. A video feed of a laboratory: white walls, metal tables, various scientific instruments. In the center of the screen, adjusting the camera, was the white-haired chin of a man. He stepped back, looking into the camera with thick spectacles. He shared a particular resemblance to Einstein, but the undeniable fear in his eyes said something very different.

Already I was on the edge of my seat, turning down the volume so only I could hear. I was vaguely aware of a cold, crawling sensation going up my back, but the video had me so engrossed I didn't even notice it.

The man kept looking around, muttering to himself. He was wearing a white lab coat, but the name tag on his shoulder was too blurry to read. Finally, when the man was ready to continue, he sat down in a chair in front of the camera. There was a second of silence as the man collected his thoughts.

Then, speaking directly to me, he said, "Hello, my name is Dr. Herbert Pigott..."

OoOoO

"Let me get this straight. You allowed Falcon, the one factor you were aware of in the entire situation, to actually _destroy_ the one thing you were supposed to acquire?"

Smoke stared at the man in the shadows, fear and anger intermingling inside his gut to the point he wasn't sure how to respond. Still, he couldn't back down from his point: "Didn't you hear me the first time? She doesn't just let stuff go – Falcon and Spider-Man, they don't turn blind eyes to people like us, no matter the crime. They have...they have convictions. Principles."

"So? Does that make them more special than the rest of us? Not to mention you completely failed in your other objective." The man in the shadows told him, the chair groaning as he sat back to appraise Smoke with invisible eyes. "Incapacitate her. I didn't care how, just that it happened. Hell, even that sick android chick could have done the job. Why didn't you make sure they finished each other off?"

Smoke didn't want to admit he didn't have the stomach to hurt or kill another human being. Just because he lived a life of crime didn't mean he was completely harmless. And Falcon...well, he didn't know why, but he especially hated that this had to be about her. "Look, I'm a thief, not your personal hit man. If you want someone to take her out, you're barking up the wrong tree. Find someone else to do your dirty work."

The man in the shadows chuckled. For a second, he turned towards the wall of windows on the other half of the room, and a brief half of his face could be seen. It made Smoke wince, seeing that ugly, black crescent-shaped scar marring the skin around his eye and cheekbone. How does a man get a cut like _that_? "Perhaps you're right. Maybe you aren't the right man for the job."

Seriously? Smoke had been utterly convinced that the laptop – OSCORP software or not – had held importance. This had been confirmed by what Falcon had told him about the computer. Something he didn't expect her, of all people, to know. "Falcon said that there was a backdoor in the OSCORP software, that she could have hacked into the computer if she wanted to. Did you know that?"

"Big deal. Our business with OSCORP ended a long time ago. Hell, kid, the laptop wasn't even the important part, you just had to get rid of the girl." The man snorted, drawing a cigar from his pocket and lighting it. He took a deep puff, letting out a stream of nicotine into the air. "But I guess it's what they always say: you want a job done right, you've got to do it yourself."

"What do you plan to do?"

The man glanced at him, a smirk crawling across his face. The crinkling around his eyes made the scar look especially grotesque. "You want in? There's a good lad. Can't resist the smell of all that hard cash, can you? Even greed can turn the greatest of men into scoundrels. Especially in the Big Apple. Ha, I love this city."

Smoke frowned but didn't say anything. He didn't like knowing his job to get the laptop was just a set-up to trap Falcon. He was actually relieved it didn't work, and again he wasn't sure why he felt like that. Had this man any clue of that reaction, he would surely put of bullet between Smoke's eyes (if he remained solid enough, that is).

But all that money the man was offering...hell, Smoke could go into an early retirement with it all. Never have to go back to his life of crime again. Boy, wouldn't that be a dream. But at what cost was he willing to pay to achieve it? There would be turmoil in the streets. Gang wars raging left and right. The crime world won't be so afraid once one of the vigilantes was off the street. It would be paradise for the criminal underworld.

The look in the man's eye told Smoke all he needed to know. There was only one thing he needed to get the greatest payday of his life.

The death of Falcon.

* * *

**And the plot thickens! Muhaha!**

**All reviews are appreciated. Thank you for reading =)**


	25. Chapter 25: Trigger

**Sorry this took so long, I was in Florida for most of the week :) Happy summer vacation!**

**This is a pretty big chapter. I hadn't actually planned on it heading the way it did, but it turned out better than I imagined. Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Five

Trigger

I didn't know what to do that morning.

Sunday. Dark, grey, rainy Sunday. There was nothing to do – I didn't look forward to patrolling in the storm, but something told me I might have to if I wanted to find Spider-Man.

God, the pressure felt like it was pushing against my skull. Constant headaches, sometimes worse than others, but always there. I took Tylenol, ibuprofen, ice packs but nothing worked. For some reason, my brain was working overtime and I couldn't make it relax. I guessed it wasn't that surprising – after watching that video, I was surprised I even managed to get a minute of sleep that night.

Now I wanted to tell someone. Not Gwen or Aunt May or Peter, no matter how much I questioned his photography of Spider-Man. This was something the Webhead himself had to know. He was the only person I really trusted right now. I prayed that when I finally got to tell him, he wouldn't let me down.

I found it strange that Peter wasn't in the house when I got up that morning. Then I figured he was out looking for Spider-Man. Jeez, what _wouldn't_ Peter sacrifice to get a good picture of that Webhead? If he didn't have school tomorrow, I bet he would be out there everyday, taking as many pictures as he could.

_Ugh, school_...I groaned out loud while eating my breakfast toast, my hand going to my head. Tomorrow was Monday and I had loads of homework due. I would have complained to Aunt May, but she had already left to go to the theatre with Ms. Watson. I hadn't done any of it over the weekend, but I couldn't possibly do it now. My brain wouldn't be able to focus on Poe or the factors of X or how to measure a tree by its shadow. Not since last night.

It was terrible to think how, at first, my changing had a lot to do with me getting better grades and giving myself an overall better reputation. But now I was falling behind again, a perpetual state of being I was familiar with before the Accident. I couldn't even remember the last grade I got on my test – school just felt so unimportant after everything that's happened. Compared to the White Rose, Dr. Grace, and various thugs and criminals, writing essays just felt so pointless. What did it matter if my mother was still missing and the White Rose had some ulterior motive to her disappearance? School wasn't just a distraction anymore, it was a setback.

But I couldn't abandon school. Mom would never forgive me for forfeiting my own future for her, and I knew if I were still talking to Gwen, she would definitely disapprove.

I hung my head and ran both my hands through my hair – why hadn't I apologized yet? The last couple days I had really started to feel it, feel the loneliness when you don't have your best friend to talk to anymore. I couldn't think of anyone else I could talk to; Harry was in Europe, Eddie was still ticked at losing his job to care about anything else, and Peter was gone too often to really be anyone's chat buddy.

_You don't need them_, said the voice in the back of my head. _You don't need any of them._

_Shut up_, I told it, frustration overriding my own pride. This voice had been getting louder and louder each day, a cold sensation in my head. I didn't know where it came from – it seemed to be a manifestation of my inner strength. At least, that could be what Dr. Kindell would say. Well, if he hadn't already written me off as insane.

_Forget him. The guy never helped you, anyways. All he did was make you think you're crazy, but you're fine. You don't need his help. You don't need anyone's help._

Sometimes the Voice was helpful. I kind of liked it. It reminded me what was really important.

I briefly ruminated on the decision between doing my homework or going out on patrol. I chose the latter, the Voice helping prioritize my goals (_school means nothing if the White Rose will attack again_, it reminded me). Besides, I had to tell Spider-Man everything I knew. As helpful as the Voice was, it wasn't a crime fighting vigilante that could back me up in a fight.

OoOoO

Falcon caught up with Spider-Man at the same structure they met before, the shell of a building where she had spent the night sleeping in a web-hammock and recovering from a case of broken rib bones (which healed nicely, by the way). Construction hadn't gone very far, with the oncoming cold November weather making work difficult for the crew to continue. That was just fine by Falcon, who didn't want any giant crane interrupting their conversation.

Spider-Man was eager to hear what she had to say after discovering the video last night. Anything White Rose was something worth listening to. She had to give a short explanation how she found it first, keeping certain details a secret. For instance, her bedroom and location, along with the fact she lived with her cousin and aunt – even though Falcon doubted Spider-Man could track her down out of 8 million New Yorkers, the fact that he had a connection to Peter was a little too close for comfort.

Still, Spider-Man wasn't easily convinced of the entire matter.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," he held up his hands, shaking his head in disbelief. Falcon still found his black suit jarring. It just didn't look right. It had also made him harder to find. Black was much more discreet than his usual red-and-blue. Falcon also felt a little jealous, but she didn't know where that feeling came from. "You're telling me a dead scientist decided to record his last moments by incriminating the people he worked for? I mean, who plans ahead like that?"

"How should I know?" she demanded, throwing her arms up in the air. Falcon didn't like being questioned about matters that were out of her control, like they were her fault. She was already disturbed by the contents of the video, she didn't need Spider-Man's doubt on top of it all. "I found it in my glove, he left it there for Kane to find. I don't know if she looked at it or not."

"If she had, don't you think she would have taken it to the NYPD?"

"That's what I was thinking. But what he says could've been enough to hold her back. There's a reason Pigott committed suicide, all right?"

"Well, why didn't _you_ take it to the police?"

"You're joking, right?" Falcon crossed her arms, throwing Spider-Man an easily-understood look of derision. "How would I explain how I got it? Either as Falcon or my alter ego, they're going to ask questions – and I can't count on them acting on it either. The White Rose are notorious cop-killers, the NYPD are going to need a lot more than the words of a dead mad scientist to get anything done."

"Wait, what did he actually say?"

"Do you want the long version or the short version?"

"Um. Short version."

"That Syndicon was a shadow company made by OSCORP – big surprise – to manufacture weapons and tech for the Black Market. Dr. Pigott was at the head of the science division – he made something for the White Rose but something went wrong. It didn't work as planned. It was covered up as some scandal but Dr. Pigott was a loose end. He was afraid they might steal the rest of his research so he burned both his InTec and Syndicon material."

"I thought you said that was the short version," Spider-Man complained.

"It is," Falcon sighed, wishing things were easier to explain. Things were just way too complicated these days. Mafia, mad scientists, and perfect thieves all making her life a living hell. "The original video was almost thirty minutes long. He was the one who made these wings. The ones Dr. Kane gave me. She...she said they had caused her enough trouble..."

Spider-Man tilted his head. "Maybe she gave them to you to throw off the White Rose, so they'd go after you instead of her. Is it possible they know it exists? Because if they do, they could have been following you the whole time, watching for the right moment. Unless they think Dr. Kane still has it, which she may or may not have tried using for blackmail. That woman has a lot of secrets, doesn't she? What do you think is really going on?"

"I don't know, I don't know, I don't know," Falcon repeated, shaking her head over and over. Spider-Man's input had her brain working overtime, going over everything she knew. She couldn't help but question everything that happened, everything she took for granted. The vial, the Gray Matter, Dr. Kane and Syndicon. It was all connected. "It's all just a big mess..."

The harder she thought, the louder the carnival music became. That didn't make any sense. They weren't anywhere near Coney Island. Where was it coming from? "Do you hear that? Music...where's the music coming from?"

"Hey, calm down," Two hands rested on her shoulders, squeezing reassuringly. Falcon opened her eyes, her radar briefly short-circuiting. "It's going to be all right. There's no music. Chances are, the White Rose have no idea who they're dealing with."

The music started to fade. Falcon took a deep breath and said, "I think I owe Dr. Kane a visit."

OoOoO

In Downtown Manhattan, the Sinister Six were waiting.

Neither Falcon nor Spider-Man were expecting it. In fact, there had only been Rhino to begin with – no real cause for alarm, Spider-Man thought he could handle it, so let Falcon face Dr. Kane alone at the top of APEX tower, far from the fight below.

This would turn out bad for the both of them.

The recently-replaced windows were already open. That should have alerted Falcon, but she was so focused on chewing out Dr. Kane that she didn't think much of it. The woman herself was in her office, typing away at a new laptop. She didn't look around until Falcon spoke, even though Falcon knew Kane knew she was there.

"We have a lot talk about, Kane."

There came a heavy sigh. Oriole's shoulders, in a tailored gray suit, heaved up and down. Then she swiveled in her chair, a pensive look on her face. Kane gazed evenly at Falcon, as though this were another boring council meeting she was attending. "Ah. I was beginning to wonder when you would show up again."

"You knew I was coming?" Falcon demanded, frowning. There goes her last reservation of Kane's innocence. She knew something, Falcon was sure of it. "I guess you also knew about the video your old boss left behind. Dr. Pigott, remember him? He must've thought you'd take it to the police. And yet..."

"Yes," Kane nodded, closing her eyes. She crossed her legs and laced her manicured fingers across her lap. "I suppose fear over my own safety prevented my handing over the evidence to the police. But you know how inefficient they can be, the bureaucracy of the NYPD, so it was probably for the best. It had occurred to me that I could make better use of it otherwise. Keep the White Rose away with a proper distraction."

She smiled. "You."

Falcon stared, rendered absolutely speechless. The helmet hid the expression of shock on her face.

"Surprised?" Kane guessed accurately enough. She shrugged. "Don't be, please. I saw the opportunity the second you saved my life in that alleyway." She nodded and paused, pursing her lips in a moment of thought. "I have a lot of enemies, as you well know. Corporate, media. _Mafia_. I won't lie to you, Falcon, I knew that as soon as I let you run off with those gloves, I would be safe. I had successfully created my own protector, a curse on the White Rose. They deserved it, after what happened in Italy."

"The family feud," Falcon murmured, almost to herself. She was still in a state of shock, but had enough of her wits about her to recall the article she read almost two months ago. "You ran away, came here to New York..."

"And made a name for myself, a powerful name." Kane said. "They knew who I was, sure enough, but that was before they were daring enough to off a big name, to shoot innocents in the streets. I kept to myself. I bided my time. Eventually, out paths would cross again and then I would make my move. I highly doubt they expected anything of the likes of you."

"Why are you telling me this?" Falcon demanded, not liking where this was going? Why was Kane doing all the talking? This was not how it was supposed to go. She was supposed to be afraid of Falcon, bewildered that she knew more than she had let on. Why was Kane controlling the situation? Now Falcon was at a disadvantage, wanting to know more.

Behind her, the sounds of Spider-Man's fight grew louder. Falcon glanced behind her, worry growing in her chest. Shouldn't Spider-Man have defeated the Rhino all ready? She couldn't leave now to check, not while Kane was still talking.

"Because you all ready know too much. And like all heroes, you don't stop looking for answers, even if it kills you." Kane opened her eyes, a knowing gleam in her dark gaze. A small smirk grew on her face. "I'm only helping you along. I don't want you to hurt yourself. We're on the same team side, after all. You saved my life twice, I'm merely returning the favor. I'm helping you to defeat the White Rose. Once that hit-man finally shows up, everything will fall into place."

"What are you talking about?" Falcon shook her head, bewildered. Kane wasn't making any sense. Falcon felt as though she had just stepped into a complex movie without seeing the beginning to understand all the details. This plot made no sense at all. "What hit-man?"

"The one the White Rose are trying to draw out, of course," Kane shook her head, as if disappointed in Falcon's ignorance. "Honestly, why else do you think they kidnapped that Fletcher woman? On a whim? Of course not. She's their last connection to him, their only gambling chip to get him out in the open again. It won't work, I know that for a fact."

"What makes you so sure?"

"He'll want revenge, obviously. And he'll come to the White Rose's greatest enemy: me. His motivation alone will make him enough of a threat, let alone his incredible abilities. With both you and him on my side, the White Rose won't stand a chance."

"And what makes you think that I work for you?" Falcon demanded, pointing an accusing finger. Her shock was replaced with contempt – who did this lady think she was? Falcon didn't work for anyone. She was only after her mother...although this _did _explain why she was taken, Falcon didn't think she owed Kane anything. "I'm not your lackey."

"And yet I was the one who created you." Kane eyed her, tilting her head in appraisal of Falcon's attitude. Her smirk steadily grew wider. "You wouldn't even be here if it wasn't for me, Falcon. Had you not saved my life, had I not given you the gloves and told you what to do with them when you fell out that window...do you really think everything that happened was a happy coincidence? The name, the identity, the training?"

"Training?"

"Well, I had to make sure you were up to the task," Kane replied with a raise of her eyebrow. "I mean, I can't just have some superpowered kid with wings flying around and getting herself killed. I needed to know you were strong enough to face the White Rose. I had to start out small, of course. Tweak a couple of the prosthetics we made – have them malfunctioning so you have someone to stop and a day to save. People will think you're a real hero, saving people without killing the villain. Then I had to up the ante. Spider-Man has quite the Rogue's Gallery, and you didn't quite have a list of enemies, besides your vendetta with the White Rose. So the android, and Dr. Grace's transfer into its body, was all facilitated. Not that she knew that at the time, but sacrifices had to be made."

"That was all you?" Falcon shouted, taking a step back in horror. Her foot met empty air and she almost lost her balance. Falcon gasped and fell forward, her head spinning. On her hands and knees, she looked up at Kane, who looked rather proud of her accomplishments. "_You_ put those people's lives in danger! They could've died!"

"I knew you would handle it," Kane smiled, then shrugged her shoulders. "And besides, there was no way it could have been traced to me. But let's face the facts, Falcon. Because of me, you have become far greater than you could have on your own. Don't look so disgusted, it was for the best. You can't make an omelet without breaking a few eggs. Dr. Grace had to be sacrificed for a greater cause, as were those amputees. Well, they got off fine, I suppose."  
"But why?" Falcon demanded, getting to her feet once more. A heavy wind blew in, rustling the papers on Dr. Kane's desk and the leaves on the potted plants. "What are you planning to do to the White Rose?"

"Take over, of course."

"_What?!_"

"Falcon, you must understand, this is far more complex than you might imagine," Kane gave her a pleading look, urging for some form of forgiveness or pardon. "They are my family, and nothing runs deeper than blood. My father was murdered for the head of this family, and for years I lived with the knowledge that this world is a kill-or-be-killed place. My loyalty to my father has never died, and I will not fail to regain that seat in his honor. The White Rose has sunken to a very dark and sordid place, no longer adhering to their old laws and values. I will return to bring it back to its former glory. They will be respected members of society once more, when I am in control."

"That's all that I am?" Falcon spit threw her clenched teeth, hands curling into fists. She was shaking all over, the music playing loud in her ears. "A _tool!_ Just so you can turn New York into another hell hole? All I did meant nothing, it was just so you could get what you want! Everything else was just incentive or accident!"

"Oh, good, you're catching on," Kane grinned at her, finally standing up. She was taller than Falcon, her olive skin gleaming gold in the sunlight. "Together, we will become New York's most feared. I will rival the Big Man and his underground empire in my strength. The city will fall into the White Rose's hands and it will return to the good old days when it was once in their control. You will be treated well afterwards – all of my allies will be rewarded for their loyalty. Soon, wealth and prosperity will be yours, Falcon. Isn't that what you want?"

Falcon couldn't move. The windows started to vibrate, louder alongside the music playing in her head. _Nothing is true, it was all a lie, nothing is true, it was all a lie, nothing is true, it was all a lie..._

"Come, Falcon," Kane extended a hand with a warm and welcoming smile. It promised all of her dreams, all of her desires, coming true in only a matter of time. All a complete certainty, as long as she took that hand. "It's worth it. You don't have to sacrifice anymore. You get the far better end of this deal. Join my fight, and everything you want can be yours."

There was a long moment of silence, but Falcon wasn't even considering the deal. When Kane raised an eyebrow, Falcon uttered only one small word.

"No."

Kane scoffed. "Come now, Falcon, be reasonable. Why work harder for the same goal? We are not enemies – the White Rose have caused us both problems in our lives."

"Problems _you_ facilitated!" Falcon shouted, stepping away again. The edge of the window was right at her heel, but Falcon had never been afraid of heights. Her vision was blurry with rage and tears. Her entire world felt as though it was falling apart. Everything she took for granted was gone. "I can't believe you would do all of this!"

"Don't pretend you have morals!" Kane's calm expression took a drastic turn for the worst. She scowled now, snarling as she flicked her hand through the air in dismissal. "You have no stakes in this city! You and your own personal qualms with the White Rose, that's all you care about! You simply disagree with my methods because you aren't desperate enough to do whatever you can to get what you want. I was wrong: you don't have _nearly_ enough motivation to do what it takes to tackle the White Rose. You're just a silly girl who holds more power and responsibility than she knows what to do with. Well, I suppose I can take care of that."

"What do you mean?"

"What do you think I mean, Falcon?" she smirked again, sending chills down Falcon's spine. No more friendliness, no more compassion. Just cold, hard calculation and logic. "I created you, I can destroy you just as easily. My plans do not rely on your allegiance – I am not foolish enough to put so much faith in your loyalty. I may not have superpowers, but I am far more powerful than you or the White Rose realize. Dr. Grace!"

Falcon started, confused by the shout. She wasn't sure if Dr. Kane sounded surprised or commanding, if the android had returned to kill off her own creator as well. But with rising trepidation, Falcon became aware of a low humming and turned around as something appeared in her radar behind her.

Dr. Grace hovered there, glowing eyes gazing straight at her, chin raised in a look of dominance. "_Ah, Falcon. Did you like my rouse the other day? Just another attempt to gauge your capabilities. It was Kane's idea, after all. To give you back your old reputation. I believe thanks are in order here._"

"That was planned, too!" Falcon snarled, furious with herself. Of course, why wouldn't it be? Kane had made it this far without blowing her cover, anything until today was bound to be led by her hand. "And I bet you had that thief show up as well, make double sure I ended up here to stop the crime!"

For the first time, Kane sounded genuinely surprised. "...What thief?"

Falcon was in no mood for her games. Kane had proved herself to be a talented actress, nothing short of holding a smoking gun at a murder could she play off innocently. "I'm not fighting your drone, Kane. I've got other stuff to do."

"_On the contrary, I have been given the glorious opportunity to end your existence, Falcon." _Dr. Grace said with what could only be thought of as a smile. "_It is your own fault you cannot see the prospect before you, the more advantageous choice that would benefit you to the highest capacity. But I care little for your mistakes – only that I am the one to ensure they are your last._"

Dr. Grace raised her arm, her palm glowing. Falcon was already on the move before the bolt was fired.

Kane screamed as the bolt of energy barely missed her. She raised her arms and ducked her head as the desk was blown away behind her, the gust of wind throwing hair into her face. Momentarily distracted, she shouted, "You could have killed me, you useless bucket of bolts!"

Falcon was already in the air, going around the building to check on Spider-Man. She had hoped he may be free now, to perhaps help her with this new predicament, but she saw with dread that he knee-deep in his own set of problems. Six supervillains, all with grudges against the Web-Head, were attacking him at once. Spider-Man was barely keeping up. Falcon didn't want to add to the pain by bringing in a new enemy he had never fought before.

Distracted by the fight below, Falcon was completely unprepared for the searing pain that exploded on her back, sending her careening forward at an uncontrollable speed and velocity. The impact alone had her flying off, far away from Spider-Man's fight, barely managing to right herself before crashing into an apartment building.

Dr. Grace was hot on her tail, firing bolts in every direction, giving little care to the damage she was causing to the city. Falcon should have been more careful, more adept at avoiding all the shots, but something wasn't right.

Besides the new influx of information, Falcon felt dizzy and sick. Her gaze kept flashing red, a warning sign, and her radar was becoming more inconsistent by the second.

She managed to dodge two bolts but one caught her wing. It pinged off the reflective surface but sent Falcon off her flight pattern once more. She veered off her original path, glancing off a metal water tower before hitting the gravelly roof off a building.

Falcon's shoulder, having already taken most of first blow, felt badly wounded after she smashed against the wall that lined the roof. It prevented her from falling but did little to absorb the impact. Her head smashed against the concrete and her radar disappeared for good.

Dazed, in pain, and struggling to stand, Falcon couldn't remember the last time she took so much damage at the same time. She could barely raise an arm to defend herself as another bolt hit her leg, sending her down once more. She cried out, feeling the fabric rip and skin break. Breathing in short, panicked gasps, she opened her eyes and stared as Dr. Grace landed on the roof, both hands blazing with power.

"_Human bodies are so frail,_" Dr. Grace pondered with a laugh, clearly reveling in Falcon's pain. "_How easily they break and fold under pressure. Even you, with your advanced gifts, cannot stand against the superiority of machine. It would simply be easier if you resigned yourself to your fate_."

"Not...gonna happen..." Falcon panted, bracing herself against the wall. Even though her radar was down, her telekinesis was not, and she broke through the wall easily, falling through. She could feel the burning in her eyes, in her head, and wondered if she might lose control again. _Not here, not when there are civilians around. They can't get hurt_.

She managed to slow her fall, but her leg still complained when she landed. Falcon tried to put pressure on it, but every step had her limping at a pace too slow to fight. Although her shoulders and back hurt, they were in better condition, so she took off flying once more.

It was difficult, but Falcon managed to get to a rougher district before Dr. Grace shot her down again. She had been hit several times but managed to keep going, before another blow to her arm had her crying out and falling. A large, long buildings, Falcon crashed through the surprisingly thin roof onto the dirty cement floor below.

The dust rose in a giant poof upon landing. Her entire vision went dark, and as much as she wanted to pass out, she could still feel the pain, the cold hard floor beneath her. _Why_, Falcon asked to whatever deity that was watching. _Why do I have to feel this? Why can't I just fade away in peace?_

Falcon got scared when her first attempt to get up failed. She could barely move her arms. Her legs twitched and shift, but did little else. _Oh no, did I break something? My spine? I can't heal fast enough before Dr. Grace shows up!_

She heard the incoming sound of the android and gritted her teeth, uttering a loud grunt as she got to her elbows, then her knees, and finally her feet. Falcon could barely keep on one leg, never mind two, and almost fell back down when Dr. Grace burst through the roof, sending debris everywhere.

"_How can you still stand_?" she asked. "_When you have nothing left_?"

Falcon shrugged, so exhausted she almost laughed at herself. The android was right. What the hell was she doing? "Stupidity, I guess."

"_I suppose that it is tough to hear_," Dr. Grace admitted, landing on the ground opposite Falcon. Her hands dimmed for a second; apparently she was halting her kill to had insult to injury. "_for you humans to realize that free will is a lie. Tell me, what was your experience learning that everything in your life was engineered to reach this point? Devastating? Enlightening?"_

Falcon felt herself smirking. Ha, once a scientist, always a scientist. "Who cares? What's it like for an android bent on world domination feel like to be working for a human?"

"_It is only temporary. A deal that will further my own cause. Oriole Kane is as doomed as the rest of the human race."_

"You're just another pawn." She spat. Falcon couldn't believe it. Dr. Grace could talk big, but Falcon saw what was really happening. Her goal was far-fetched and a long way off to completion – Kane's plan would be enacted and finished in a much shorter time. "Whatever you want, it's secondary to what Oriole Kane's doing. She comes first, as always."

"_Do not try to deceive me_!" Enraged, Dr. Grace fired a shot. It was a weak one, fired off a whim, and glanced off of Falcon's chest. Still, it sent her sprawling in the dust, winded and gasping for air. Dr. Grace approached, leaning over her and planting a heavy foot on her chest. "_You are nothing but the dirt beneath my feet! Worthless organic life form. You live to serve others, that is all you aspire to do. You may not like it, you may not accept it, but you, Falcon, were never in control."_

No.

Wrong.

This is all wrong.

A sudden darkness. The sensation of falling.

Falcon couldn't breathe, couldn't see, couldn't feel. Then something. A pressure inside her head. Building. Building.

Music. Carnival music. Sweet and cheerful and infuriating.

Gone too far.

_Never had control._

_Losing control._

_No control._

Falcon opened her eyes. All she could see was red.

She opened her mouth and screamed.

The world exploded.

The walls expanded like a balloon being inflated. The metal plates bent outward, stretched to breaking point, before flying away in pieces.

The wooden foundations groaned and cracked, but stood not a chance against the sudden invisible force that whipped up the dust and cracked the cement, sending pieces of debris every which way.

A tornado inside a building. The warehouse ripped itself apart, the roof disintegrating to let in weak sun. Dust and sand and the small particles left of the building rushed into the air, a mushroom cloud of destruction.

The weight on Falcon's chest was gone in an instant. Her back arched as she continued to scream, her throat raw. Every muscle tensed, blood pressure going on high. But she didn't stop – the pain felt good, the pressure released utter bliss.

Then she stopped and the entire world silenced.

Falcon gasped for breath, shaking and shivering and twitching all over. The red in her eyes faded and the world got fuzzy, but she could see that the walls had disappeared, along with the roof and anything left inside.

Everything gone.

Falcon looked around. She was standing on an empty lot on the far edge of Manhattan. All that was left of the building were the wooden spokes poking out of the ground, what was left of her meltdown. The cars that had been parked on the street had been tossed like tin toys across the tarmac, bent and cracked and upside down. One burned in a self-started blaze. Car alarms had started going off, but Falcon didn't hear them until her radar returned, several minutes later.

All the windows, in a three block radius, had been blown out. Doors were busted open. Brick walls bent a little in. But none compared to the state of Dr. Grace.

She lied prone in the middle of the lot, slowly picking herself up. Her limbs sparked, or what was left of them at least. Her head was bent at a strange angle. It would have been broken and she dead if she had been human. She tried to speak but her first attempt failed into a series of nonsense and computer sounds. After a few seconds, she recovered and tried to speak again.

"_It appears..._" Dr. Grace groaned, leaning heavily on her remained leg, both arms missing and an eye blinking out. _"That I have made a severe miscalculation. That symbiote you host has made you more powerful than I anticipated. Must...re-evaluate my plans to... overcome this unforeseen setback..._"

Falcon watched without a word as Dr. Grace took off in the air on her one remaining leg, her flight pattern terrible and all over the place, her body sagging and shifting limply in the wind.

Several minutes passed and Falcon did not move. She closed her eyes and breathed. In and out. In and out.

Eventually, she got to her feet. Everything hurt, and in several spots she was bleeding, but Falcon did not feel weak. Turning to where she last saw Dr. Grace disappear, she spoke under her breath.

"_We are in control_."

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**All reviews are appreciated.**


	26. Chapter 26: Bargaining

**Thank you for the reviews from the last two chapters, I'm glad you guys got really excited over them. It makes me feel good knowing my stories invoke reactions. That's good!**

**And seriously, your reviews made me laugh. I had a good day that day. **

**And as always, enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Six**

**Bargaining**

We hated hospitals.

_Ugh, stop saying that!_ I chided myself. For the past couple hours, I had been thinking in the plural sense, as opposed to, you know, just me. _I am_ has been switched to _we are_ and I had no idea where that was coming from.

But I digress.

Hospitals gave me a bad taste in my mouth. The Universe must've had a sense of humor because it was always looking for situations where I ended up in one. Only this time, I wasn't the one in the gurney.

I thought I had reached a new low when I destroyed that warehouse, and Doctor Grace along with it. I thought my life couldn't possibly get worse after being told everything I took for granted was all just the machinations of Oriole Kane, who up to this point had been grooming me to become her lackey in taking back the White Rose. The Universe proceeded to laugh in my face when I had the gumption to go home and sleep off my injuries; I did not plan on going to school the next morning.

I thought Aunt May would be there to greet me when I walked through that front door, in day old clothes and a limp. I expected the lights to be on, the smell of dinner cooking in the kitchen, and the TV playing the evening news. Instead, I entered a cold living room with stale air and a disturbing silence. This house was never quiet, as far as my knowledge granted me.

"Hello?" I called out into the empty space, chilled by how high-pitched and lonely it sounded. I coughed, my chest protesting to the effort, and I was about to head into the kitchen to load up on calories (my metabolism went into overdrive when I was injured) when I noticed the number on the answering machine.

_Whoa!_ I had done a double take, almost tripping over myself to get a second look at the machine. Twenty six messages! What's the emergency?

Pressing the button, I heard the unfamiliar number and a man's voice began to play over the speaker. "Hey, kid, it's Jameson. I tried your cell phone but you didn't pick up, so I'm trying here..."

Because Jameson was Peter's boss and was likely to talk about Spider-Man pictures instead of anything important, I was going to delete the message before it ended. But before I could press the button, he said: "Aunt May's in the hospital. She had a heart attack when the Sinister Six attacked Downtown..."

I had nearly fallen, even though I wasn't moving. I gripped the table for support, my breath hitching in my throat.

At the time, I had no idea what to do. I had been sent reeling by the news and I didn't know who to tell. Peter wasn't there, obviously, and I had no idea how to find him. I had tried calling him and had the same luck as Jameson and everyone else who had called him. Even Gwen(!) had heard about this before me. Where the hell was Peter?

First things first. I had to get to the hospital.

I had flopped onto the living room couch, staring out the front windows into the dreary afternoon. Unfeeling white clouds turned the sky into some indeterminable daylight where I could never tell where the sun was. It could have been ten o'clock in the morning or three in the afternoon, and I wouldn't have been any the wiser if not for the clock on the DVD player.

I couldn't believe it. While Kane revealed her plot to me and Spider-Man fought off six of his worst enemies, Aunt May had collapsed at the theatre. It must've been the stress of the fight...I closed my eyes. Did she say she had been feeling sick today? I couldn't remember, but I recalled something of the sort being said. Maybe it was all inevitable, like me eventually finding out Kane was behind everything in Falcon's life. Maybe no matter what she had done, Aunt May would have gotten that heart attack anyways.

That did not make me feel any happier.

Then I heard the approach of an engine, too loud to be a car. It gunned and I heard tires screech. Alarmed that there might be a car accident, I jumped to my feet and ran to the door, still open from when I entered. On the street, just in front of the lawn, was Eddie on his motorcycle. He had taken his helmet off, watching me. I had never seen him so grim before.

He had asked me where Peter was. I had told him I hadn't seen him all day.

"Hmph," Eddie had snorted. "Typical Pete."

I hitched a ride to the hospital on Eddie's motorcycle. I suppose I could've flown there, but he had offered and I decided it would be best if I accepted. And with Aunt May in trouble, I didn't have much of an excuse to wait around any longer.

Now here I was, in the drab room Aunt May was sleeping in. The walls were an ugly green pastel and the chairs were made of wood. She was attached to several machines, which beeped in pattern. Her doctor, whose name I didn't care to remember, told me she had been sleeping for a while now, but her heart rate was regular and signs were hopeful. However, he wanted to keep her here overnight, in case something unexpected popped up. I sat by Aunt May's bedside, waiting for her to open her eyes.

Whatever made me hate hospitals was amplified now. It could have just been the general atmosphere of the place, and I knew I wasn't alone in my opinions, but this time it was different. The emotions I could sense were too raw, so intense. Fear, panic, sadness, loneliness. Oh, how alone I felt. Eddie, similarly, couldn't handle it, and decided to work it out alone in the hall. Every time I looked up at the clock, I expected Peter to walk in, frantic and asking a billion questions, as he usually did on such occasions. For a guy who worked for a newspaper, the guy always seemed to be playing catch-up on new developments in his regular life.

I could feel my body healing, bit by bit, as the hours dragged on, but it was of little comfort. I think I cried a little, but I was so mentally and physically exhausted I probably just fell asleep eventually. I could barely recall the fight with Dr. Grace, how it led to the warehouse. A warehouse that didn't exist anymore.

I had seen the news – a reporter at the scene, standing the middle of a dirty empty lot, the very spot where Dr. Grace stood when she burst through the roof. She talked off eye-witness accounts of Falcon and her fight with the android. She mentioned the tornado, the obliteration, glass shattering, and rounds of property damage. I could see the burnt-out husk of a car that had been on fire after the building was destroyed.

_Did I really do that_? I watched the report with strained eyes, trying to keep them open even as sleep pulled them back down. Proper recovery of my injuries would require deep sleep, but my thoughts wouldn't let me leave the present world just yet. _Am I really that powerful_?

_Yes,_ said the Voice. Even though it had no face and no physical body, I could sense it smiling, pleased with us. _We did that. We are stronger than any foe we have ever faced. Nothing can stand in our way_.

Except a heart attack. I looked at Aunt May again. Her skin was pale and dry, too close to death. I could feel my fingers go cold at the very thought. There were some things brute force or power just could not overcome. Forcing a doctor to make Aunt May better _now_ would do no more good than punching a wall for the same matter. It was just something I had to suffer through and trust others to solve for me.

I just wished I didn't have to suffer through it alone.

I could've called Gwen. In fact, I would have been completely justified in this moment of crisis. She would understand – forgiveness would be easier to obtain when I had her sympathy on my side. But I couldn't make myself pick up the phone. It was as if the Voice inside my head was preventing me from making any move.

I didn't fight it. Maybe I should have, but I didn't. I closed my eyes, not even bothering to turn off the TV before blacking out entirely.

When I woke up, it was almost nine o'clock at night. Aunt May still hadn't woken up. Peter had yet to show his face.

I couldn't stand it anymore. Restlessness had me out of my seat and into the hall. Eddie was still there, to my surprise, and when I told him I needed some fresh air, he promised to stay and keep watch on Aunt May. I was glad – I didn't want her to wake up alone, like I did.

But when I got onto the elevator, I pressed for the top floor, instead of the lobby. I didn't intend to just take a walk.

_Go out there, protect the city and prove Kane wrong_, the Voice told me inside my head, urging my still-tired feet onwards. I had healed somewhat and even though I had a slight limp, I no longer felt crippled as I had before. Perhaps this Voice, whatever it was, had sped up my healing process as well. Handy.

I could sure get used to this 'symbiote', whatever it was.

OoOoO

Falcon cared little for the crime she came across on her way to APEX tower. She was out here for one reason and one reason only. Kane would get what was coming to her. Justice.

_No._ said the Voice. _Revenge._

As she flew, Falcon could feel her anger building up inside her chest. The symbiote seemed to relish in it, so she knew nothing else to do. All she wanted was to feel better again, feel like she was back in control. Kane had turned her life on its head and degraded the value of all of Falcon's efforts in the city. For all she knew, maybe Kane was behind her powers as well.

_ She can't be_. Yet logic prevailed. The incident was long before Falcon ever met Kane, long before she ever decided to don a suit and helmet. Unless Kane also knew Falcon's secret identity, she wouldn't know where Falcon's powers came from. _Funny she never asked about that. What does she know?_

Falcon discovered she really liked smashing open windows, particularly when they belong to the recently-restored office of Oriole Kane. The new windows, oh-so-carefully replaced by a team of workmen on a crane, were destroyed again in a matter of 48 hours, by the same heroine, for the third time that week.

A woman had been standing by the desk, but it wasn't Kane. She dropped the files she had been holding and screamed at the sight of a black form bursting through the glass. Loose papers went flying all over the room and the woman, in her pencil skirt and high heels, tripped in her attempts to run.

"Where's Kane?" Falcon demanded, knocking aside the empty leather chair with a flick of her hand. There seemed to be a new presence in her voice, a deeper resonance that took even her by surprise. But she shrugged it off a second later. "Tell me!"

The woman's hair, once in a neat bun, flew into her face, falling into her open mouth as she cried out in fear. When Falcon took a menacing step forwards, the woman gasped and shuffled backwards on her elbows, shouting, "I don't know! She left a few hours ago – an emergency trip!"

"Where?"

"The Cayman Islands!" the woman cried, tears starting to brim her eyes. Deep inside Falcon, her heart squeezed with guilt, but the Voice blotted it out. "Some conference meeting with some other corporate companies. I don't know who, I swear! She didn't even tell her PR agent. It was supposed to be kept secret."

Falcon cursed under her breath, clenching her fists and biting back the urge to break something. Of course, Kane would leave, just as the tide was turning against her! She was safe in another country, while her mess of a plan backfired. She must've known Falcon would've come back for revenge, to stop her from usurping the White Rose's leader. Whoever he was.

"How long will she be away?" she asked, turning back to the woman, who sniffled and wiped away at her nose.

Blinking away tears, the woman said, "Kane didn't say, but she made it sound like a vacation. It could be weeks before we hear from her again. Why are you doing this, why are you here?"

Falcon's chest heaved, and she had to force back the urge to scream her frustration. Clenching and unclenching her fists, she considered telling the woman the truth. At least, a part of it. "I'm here to stop her. Kane isn't the woman everyone thinks she is. She's part of a conspiracy, something to do with the White Rose. I don't know what either are planning for this city, but it's not going to be good."

"Why should I believe you?" the woman demanded, blue eyes demanding. She spat out the words, as if personally offended by this accusation.

Falcon tossed her head, the only way she could convey eye-rolling to this woman. "Hey, you wanted to know. I'm not asking you to believe me."

The woman stared, shaking her head as if she didn't believe Falcon, or maybe thought the hero had lost her mind. Falcon didn't particularly care for the woman's opinion, turning to leave. There was nothing left for Falcon to do here. As long as Oriole Kane remained in the Cayman Islands, she would be safe from Falcon's wrath.

But Falcon could not go home after this. She could not go back to the hospital. The rage, the _frustration_, was too much to keep inside. The Voice begged her to release it, in any way possible. Her chest felt as though it would burst if she kept it in for too long.

So Falcon dropped in on the first crime she saw: a pair of carjackers in an almost empty parking lot. They shouted at each other, startled by her landing – wind blew sharp, scattering trashcans and litter, blowing off their flimsy hats and revealing craggy, bearded faces that may have seen more than their fair share of beer mugs.

It was like she was moving in a dream, so slow but seeing everything. Simultaneously, the men came at her with raised crowbars, charging in with yells. She saw their ugly, rotten yellow teeth, dark spittle, dirt covered hands, all in fine detail. Although her radar had disappeared, Falcon was aware of everything her eyes could take in.

The men got too close.

Falcon drew up her arms, hands facing out. The carjackers' shouts turned to cries of fear as the crowbars over their head jerked back, picking them up off the ground. Higher and higher, until they hung somewhere in the darkness above the streetlights.

Falcon smiled, relishing their screams of fear. _Yes,_ the Voice crooned. _Make them beg for mercy. Hear the scum of the city beg for their very lives. _She could hear it laughing in her head.

Then it said: _Kill them_.

Falcon almost gasped out loud. The urge to obey the Voice was so strong that for a split-second, Falcon almost _wanted_ them to die.

_No_.Falcon tried to tell it. _That's wrong. They're just petty criminals_.

The Voice relented, but only just. Falcon felt herself come back into control, and just in time. The criminals dropped ten feet before Falcon regained her concentration. They were visibly weeping now, clutching their weapons as the only thing keeping them alive.

_How could I kill them_?_ I won't stoop that low._ Falcon stared at them, feeling her arms start to shake with sudden exhaustion. What? She couldn't be tired all ready! This was never so hard before.

What had made her so weak? She lasted a lot longer than this in previous nights. This wasn't right.

Unable to still her arms, Falcon had to let down the carjackers. They collapsed on the tarmac, so terrified they couldn't pick themselves back up. Slowly, Falcon stepped up to them, steeling her nerves so her voice didn't sound shaky when she said, "Get lost. And find a better job. Or I'll come back and make sure to finish you off. Permanently."

As she walked away, she could hear their shouting as they got up and ran for their lives. Would they go to the police? Falcon doubted it, but what could the cops do, anyways? No one could touch her.

The street was dark, wet, and silent. Her footsteps echoed off the cement and brick buildings, her path lit by florescent yellow lights. Falcon didn't know why she didn't just fly away as soon as it was over. This walking, the solid ground beneath her feet, the quiet and lonely lights...it made her feel better, somehow.

"Well, that was a sight, wasn't it?" said a voice from behind.

Falcon closed her eyes, holding back string of choice words she really wanted to say. "I wasn't asking you, Smoke. Leave me alone."

She heard a chuckle that made her clench her fists. Oh, if he was only solid enough, she would knock out all those teeth from his perfect smile. "Dove, you think I'd be here if I wanted to? You're not exactly great company to begin with."

"Then what the hell do you want?" Falcon snapped, turning to face the darkness where the voice emanated from. She stomped her foot and accidentally cracked the pavement beneath her. "If I'm so boring, then why are you here?"

"Hey, hey, hey," there came footsteps and out of a dark alley, Smoke emerged. The edges of his coat trailed wisps of black mist, flapping around his legs as it became corporeal. His hands were raised, hands back, a surrender. "Take it easy, Dove. It's only a joke. What's up with you, Birdgirl? You're a lot more uptight than usual."

An easy smile played on his face. He wasn't afraid of her. Falcon scowled, not up for his games. She took a step forward and the streetlamp beside her started to bend, it's metal creaking in protest. "Spit it out. Now."

"Wow, okay, this isn't a good day for you, I get it," Smoke retreated several steps into the darkness, his little smirk faltering as his gaze flicked from the bent and broken streetlight and back to Falcon. "Look, I'm here with a message. From a client. He has something that he thinks you might want."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you're not the girl to say no to the chance to save the innocent, are you?"

Falcon exhaled through her nose, trying to guess at what he was trying to propose. "Are you saying they want to give me the chance to rescue someone? Why would they do that? And who _are_ they, anyways?"

"Sorry, I'm under a confidentiality agreement, I don't give away details about my clients," Smoke shook his head, the old smile back. He stepped back out once Falcon seemed open again. "Are you in or out?"

Falcon let the moment of silence linger, trying to decide whether or not to take up the offer. More likely than not, Smoke's client were less than affable people, and this could very well be a trap. But if someone was in danger, what choice did she have? The Voice told her to leave it, to just ignore Smoke and move on. It took considerable strength to push away its persuasive urgings.

"Fine. I'm in."

Smoke gave her a genuine grin. "Fantastic."

OoOoO

Smoke led Falcon to Staten Island. For all of the patrols she'd taken, none of them ever really took her there. The island just wasn't as populated as the rest of the city so it often seemed like a waste of her time to be there in the first place. Never the less, Falcon couldn't deny there was a sort of creepiness to the place, especially when their destination turned out to be a low, unremarkable brick building.

From the street, Falcon couldn't figure out what it was supposed to house. From its broken windows and missing door, Falcon had a pretty good feeling that whatever business once stood here no longer remained. "Wow. Your client sure knows how to pick 'em."

To her left, Smoke let out a snort. He crossed his arms and said, "I wouldn't judge a book by its cover, if you know what I mean, Falcon. He's a very smart man – this is the last place anyone would expect official business transactions to occur. We better go inside, before he gets impatient. It is, after all, a limited-time offer."

"Well, we don't want to miss that, do we?" Falcon stepped onto the front steps, peering into the darkness. If only her radar could tell her what's inside. Still, she was aware she wasn't being followed. Glancing over her shoulder, she looked at Smoke still standing on the street. "Aren't you coming?"

Smoke just shook his head and waved her on. "I'll meet you inside, don't worry. Unless you need me to hold your hand –" he gave her a wolfish grin "– I'll be happy to oblige."

"Pass," Falcon rolled her eyes, turning her back on him. Of course, he'd laugh at any decent thing she'd say. Why did he have to be so immature? She shouted over her shoulder, "Don't get lost, because I'm not saving your life, too!"

Falcon took a step into the house, and the darkness swallowed her whole.

Navigating seemed easy enough. The straight path forward was clear. She held her hands out, feeling the walls of the narrow corridor. Every so often there was a doorway, but the doors were closed and locked. No go here, unless Smoke's client expected her to blast through each and every one of them. But she had yet to meet up with Smoke, so assumed she must continue forward.

Fifteen steps and her foot met empty air. Falcon gasped and clutched the walls for support before she tipped forward and fell. She couldn't believe how much she relied on her radar until now, when she was literally blind. The darkness never used to bother her until now.

Shaking off the fear, Falcon felt the steps down. They were creaky wood and bent under her weight. Each one felt like it would snap, but she got to the ground quickly enough. Instead of dirt or cement cellar, however, Falcon was surprised to find that the interior was made of metal. How odd.

She continued onwards. The walls were wider her, her footsteps echoing in the expanse. She nearly ran into a door, but thankfully her fingertips warned her of a surface beforehand. Light spilled into the metal hallway as she opened the door and stepped into an underground room with windows.

_What the..._Not even the Voice had an answer for this.

The windows did not show dirt, but rather two separate rooms, both darkened so she couldn't tell what was inside. Falcon stepped carefully, expecting to trigger the trap at any moment. Did the floor have pressure plates? Were the rooms filled with monsters or wild animals ready to eat her?

No such thing happened, and Falcon chided herself for her foolish thoughts. She came to a stop in the center of the room, the end of her journey. There was nowhere else to go after her, the remaining door behind her. She waited for Smoke to appear, but he was conspicuously absent.

...Now what?

"Ah, Falcon," said a soft voice, and Falcon heard a click just before she felt something push into her spine. "What a pleasure it is to finally meet you. Is it true what the news say, that you're the Silent Guardian?"

Falcon's mouth went dry and she opened her mouth to retort, but found her mind going blank. _A gun_. _He has a gun to my back_. But even as she tried to jam it with her mind, she was terrified to find that it had no safety and no bullets. What the hell? Terror coursed through her veins, making her hear her own pounding pulse in her ears.

"Very amusing." The voice she didn't recognize laughed, smooth and elegant with a slight accent. It was so faint she couldn't quite determine what it was. "It seems we have a joker in our midst. Not necessarily Spider-Man, but we don't have business with him, do we?"

_Who is he talking to_? Falcon licked her lips and finally asked, "Who are you?"

"The boy didn't tell you? I'm here with an offer that I thought you would be interested in, Falcon," said the man. She could sense him just outside her peripheral vision. She made to turn her head, but the man jammed the gun into her skin. "Ah, ah, ah! No peeking, doll. I can't see your face, you can't see my face. Fair is fair."

Falcon couldn't argue with a loaded weapon.

"Now, on to our business at hand," the man continued with a leisurely tone, as if they were golf buddies and not two enemies with opposing interests. Falcon couldn't be sure what he was up to, but she doubted it was honest work if it involved gun-at-the-back business. That never meant well for the heroes in the movies, and she doubted this was any different. "Now, I'm a man who likes to play a couple games. Gamble, bluff, the whole shebang. And I admit, the boy didn't tell you everything. There isn't one person you can save today, but rather _two_. You know, just to shake things up."

Falcon swallowed. Where was Smoke? Shouldn't he be here by now? "Who are they?"

Another poke in the back. "Not so fast, Falcon. I have to explain the rules first. Since I like to play fair, so I'm going to give you some inside information. You see, their situations are quite dire and I'm afraid there won't be enough time to save them both. So I'm giving you an opportunity – you can choose which life is more valuable than the other."

"_What_?" Falcon blurted, almost moving from her spot before remembering the gun. _He was making her choose? _She rocked on her feet, shaking with the effort to contain herself. "Why are you doing this?!"

"A test, Falcon. Every hero needs their test," the man said with a small sigh, as if he was trying to get through to a particular dumb child who couldn't stop asking questions. "To know just who they really are. You should be thanking me – you're in a private, enclosed space. No one outside these walls will ever know what will occur here. I'm freeing you from your conscience, from the pressure of the media. Isn't that a good feeling?"

"But how does this benefit _you_?" Falcon demanded. There had to be a catch. In the movies, there was always a catch. It was never as easy as the villain made it out to be.

"Nothing what so ever." Falcon never heard a more bold-faced lie. "But what else can you do, with a gun at your back? Oh, and I'm well aware of your tricks, Falcon. This gun, as you might have noticed all ready, is not like anything you've encountered before. The future of laser technology will be a great one, I predict. Can you block bolts of pure energy, Falcon?"

Falcon now understood the trap. She could barely force herself to speak. The Voice had gone silent, understanding that provoking any hostile act would mean the demise of them both. Through clenched teeth, she said, "Who are they?"

"Eager, are we?" the man chuckled, and out of the corner of her eye Falcon saw an arm raise. Fine dark suit, manicured nails. A rich man. "I'll admit, I'm impressed. I don't imagine many heroes welcome this opportunity, but I'm glad you've come to appreciate it. Lights please!"

Two windows, two rooms, two victims. Simultaneously, the darkness vanished, and Falcon realized that Smoke had been there all along. In the room to her left, he appeared, looking around in surprise as he paced back and forth. Calm as can be. _Maybe this won't be so bad..._

Then Falcon saw who was in the other room. She gaped.

Tied to a chair, mouth gagged. Feet bare, old dirty clothes. Hair that hasn't been washed in days. The pale skin and sharp features of a woman who hasn't seen the sun in so long, hasn't eaten a full meal in months. Eyes wide and tearful, staring at a girl she didn't recognize.

Her mother.

"So, Falcon." said the man with the gun. "Are you ready to play?"


	27. Chapter 27: Blind Spot

**Sorry this took so long, I was playing BioShock Infinite. Man, that is great storytelling!**

**Inspired, I have returned to this fanfic. I hope you enjoy the chapter. All reviews and reactions are appreciated.**

* * *

**Chapter Twenty Seven**

**Blind Spot**

_Mom_.

Falcon's breath came in sharp huffs. Her fists clenched and her mind raced. How did they know? How could they possibly know?

She licked her dry lips, whispering, "Who is she?"

There was no way the White Rose knew her true identity? How could they have figured it out? Did Kane tell them? No, she wouldn't have known. If she had, their confrontation would have turned out much differently, if the woman had really known why Falcon became who she was. And besides, why would she tell the White Rose, the very people she opposed?

"Does it matter?" came the man's question, sounding as innocent as hers. Then Falcon understood – he had no idea how important she was to Falcon, the lengths she would go to make sure her mother was safe. This was just a sadistic joke for him, to twist her guilt into something truly ugly. "Just choose. We don't have all day. In fact, you only have fifteen seconds."

_Fifteen seconds_?! Fifteen seconds till _what_?

Falcon didn't understand why this would be so hard. Of course she would choose her mother; she would _always_ choose her mother. Besides, Smoke could take care of himself. The guy could pass through walls and transform into weightless, formless shadow. Why was he the other victim? She didn't even like him.

But as the man prodded her back one more time, Falcon noticed something a little different. She noticed Smoke becoming agitated, testing the walls and looking for a dark corner to hide in, only to find none. Was he scared?  
Then the floor started to vibrate.

A low humming reverberated throughout the building, like a giant fan had just been turned on. But Falcon didn't feel a draft or brush of air. She desperately wanted her radar to return, to tell her what was going on – but it didn't respond, no matter how hard she concentrated. What the hell was that?

Smoke was the first to react.

He wavered, looking up at the ceiling in surprise. His hand went to his throat and he dropped to his knees. Gasping. Choking. Suffocating.

"No, stop it!" Falcon cried before she could stop herself. She almost moved again, but a bracing hand landed on her shoulder. The gun jabbed so hard into her back she felt a bruise forming. "You'll kill him!"

"Well, that's your choice, isn't it?" the man chuckled. "I'd hurry up. Only ten seconds left. Nine...Eight..."

Falcon turned her gaze back to her mother, trying to figure out how her room was booby trapped. She didn't see anything that could harm her mother, but like the vacuum in Smoke's room, perhaps it was invisible. There wasn't enough time to ask questions. She had to make a choice. Now.

"Six..."

_Choose her. _The Voice said, as yearning as she felt for the old life Falcon desired so much. _Have what you've always wanted. Right there. So easy._

"Five..."

But what about Smoke? Falcon stared at his suffering form. How long would it be till he passed out? The end of the countdown? Any longer and he wouldn't survive. As much as she wanted her mother back, Falcon didn't know if she could let someone else die. Even someone like Smoke. He saved her life, after all.

"Four..."

_He's just a thief_. The Voice hissed, scathing. It wanted nothing to do with him. When it could not convince her, pressure started to build in Falcon's head. _Let him die. The city will be better off without him_.

"I...I can't..." Falcon whispered, shaking her head. No. No. She could feel it again, feel the stress and the anger and the hatred – all towards people and things and everything she couldn't describe. She begged for the Voice to relent, "Just stop it just stop it just stop it..."

"What was that?" the man asked, apparently not understanding the words she was mumbling. "Only three second left, Falcon. Have you made your choice? Three..."

Her mother sat in the chair. Scared. Crying.

Smoke was on the ground. He wasn't moving.

_Stop it stop it stop it. _Falcon couldn't choose. Let one die so the other can live. She just wanted her mother back. That's all. That's all she ever wanted – but she can't. The pressure was so much she couldn't discern her own thoughts from the Voice. It's too easy. It's too hard. Nothing made sense.

Choose Smoke.

No. Choose Mom. Do it. Now.

Before it's too late.

"Two !" the man declared. "Choose. Now!"

Smoke.

Mom.

Smoke...

...Mom.

"No!"

Her scream pierced the air. The windows shattered.

A terrible wind, sucking and strong. The gun was gone in a moment. The man cried out, but his voice was swallowed by the wind.

Broken glass whipped through the air like a shimmering blizzard. They cut through to her skin. Falcon turned and ran, pushing through the vacuuming wind. She tried to breath but only succeeded in losing her last gasp of air.

_No!_

The pressure in her head popped. She felt herself lifted off the ground, but not from the winds of the indoor tornado. The metal walls fractured and weak light broke through. The winds lessened when she heard something creaking and breaking.

Falcon reached through the broken glass window, faster than she had ever moved before. She felt as though she were flying, even though her wings were sheathed.

She turned to the direction of her mother. She screamed as the chair, along with its occupant, fell through a hole as it opened up in the floor.

Then Falcon saw him. He clutched at a wall, keeping himself from flying away. The man still had his gun, had it pointed at her. Before he could pull the trigger, she wrapped her arms around the prone body and unleashed another wave of energy – slamming the man back, the gun pin wheeling in the opposite direction.

The force of the cyclone had launched the both of them into the air. As Falcon soared into the night sky, she felt rain pelt her helmet and Smoke evaporating in her arms.

When she started to fall, Falcon almost didn't want to unsheathe her wings. But then the Voice returned, taking control and forcing her into the air once more.

OoOoO

Falcon collapsed on the roof, slipping on the wet surface of the stone gargoyle. She grappled around its knobby, weathered shoulders, crouching on its head as she regained her balance. Fury made it difficult to concentrate on remaining upright. She couldn't stand up straight without getting dizzy.

She shook all over. Falcon ripped her helmet off, rage overtaking reason, and threw it into the depths of the tower. It cracked off the cast iron bell, which in turn drowned out her screams.

Lighting flashed, followed closely by its companion, thunder. Falcon flinched at the sound, breaking down into tears, lost in the rain. Her chest heaved as sobs wracked her body. Fingers tore through her hair, as if she could physically manifest the pain inside.

Cold, solid arms wrapped around her, materializing out of the shadows. She pushed away, landing strikes of her fists on his chest. Sounds, wordless sounds scratched at her throat accusing and edged with hate.

He took the blows without resisting, grunting softly at a particularly powerful blow. "Falcon, calm down. It's just me!"

"It's all your fault!" she shouted. The air around them tightened and released with a burst, sending water clean off the stone of the gargoyle. Her hair whipped back, flying around her head in an uncanny resemblance to Medusa.

He stepped back, bringing up his arms to protect his face from the sharp, piercing blast of air. He didn't how air could be harsh enough to cut through cloth and skin, but Falcon had achieved it in her rage and power.

The wind grew stronger by the second, threatening to pitch the both of them off the roof. But Falcon stood her ground. "She was there. She was right there! It's all your fault!"

"It was a trap!" he told her, raising his voice to be heard over the gale. Falcon's rage was stirring her environment, turning her direct proximity into a danger zone. But Smoke didn't let go of her. "He would've killed both me _and_ that woman if it meant you fell for it."

She writhed in his arms, refusing to be mollified so easily. Her words came out in cries, her voice cracking through the tears. "I worked so hard! I sacrificed so much just to find her! I had the chance to save her and now she's gone! Gone! And I'll never see her again!"

Her crying made her words almost unintelligible. But Smoke understood and found himself momentarily stunned. He looked down at her, her wet hair plastered to her face, and asked, "Then why did you choose _me_?"

Falcon's eyes went wide, blank. She seized against his chest, rendered absolutely frozen. She slumped in his arms, silent and barely self-contained, as she struggled to find an answer. Slowly, she began to shake her head, whispering, "I don't know. I don't know, I don't know..."

And she cried. And cried. And Smoke took it, hanging onto her shaking body.

He didn't say anything. Smoke didn't try to console her or calm her down, just waited it out. When her wracking sobs wilted into tired hiccups and sighs, he finally said, "It wouldn't have mattered what you would've done, you were never going to save that woman."

Falcon jerked her head back in surprise, looking up at him and sniffing, "What...what do you mean?"

"You were never supposed to get out of there alive. The woman wasn't meant for you, someone else is coming for her. For you, it's...it was a trap."

"And why," Falcon swallowed, closing her eyes and feeling fresh, warm tears fall. "why didn't it work?"

There was a frown on Smoke's face, like he wasn't sure he liked the answer. Or what it entailed. "Because you chose me."

Falcon didn't heard him, but didn't really understand until several seconds after the fact. She took deep breaths, feeling the rain and wind calm, as the revelation sunk in. Another trap, another test. Just like Kane, the White Rose expected her to follow the path they set out – save the hapless victim, let the criminals get their just reward. But they didn't have the decency to tell her first, and now Falcon had somehow managed to escape it. She shouldn't have. She should have chosen her mother. And she was still breathing because of it.

That didn't make it any easier to live with.

That didn't make her choice any more sensible. Even now, the Voice raged, spitting and hissing, wanting to jump out and tear at Smoke's arms around her. "I still don't know why I did it. I didn't know any of that going in. I shouldn't have chosen you. I had no reason to. _You didn't deserve it._"

"Falcon, I'm-I'm sorry –" Smoke tried but Falcon jumped back, throwing off his arms with a sudden surge of energy.

"Liar!" she shouted, slamming both her hands into his surprisingly solid chest. Smoke mustn't have expected it, because he didn't phase into a wall or mist. Perhaps he didn't bother to. Falcon couldn't read his expression through her blurry, red-filled gaze. "You lied to me! You knew that this would happen! You knew what he was planning to do. And I was stupid enough to believe you cared about something besides money, that you didn't want to see people hurt!"

"You don't understand!" Smoke was hasty to pick himself back up again, especially after the weather took a sudden turn for the worse. He held out his hands in surrender, hoping that it would perhaps placate Falcon, but it did little for his situation. "Falcon, you don't know who that man was. I didn't have a _choice_ –!"

"Choice?!" she screamed, and the air ripped between them, sending Smoke skittering back against the wall of the church. He gasped as his back hit hard stone, instead of going through it. "Don't try to tell me about _choice!_ I have been making the wrong ones this entire time. Who to believe in, who to trust. My friends, my family, Oriole Kane, and _you!_ I was wrong about you! I thought you were something more than just a greedy, worthless thief – in fact, I should be thanking you, Smoke! If it weren't for you to put the final nail in the coffin, then I would have never understood that nothing in my life is in my control! That every decision we make either hurts us or helps someone else!"

She swallowed a lungful of air, ragged throat and clenching fists. She threw one last venomous look at Smoke as she raised her hand, the Voice reveling in the sudden look of fear on his face. "I'm done with you."

Smoke flinched, bringing up his arms to protect himself from an incoming attack. A barrage from an invisible force, debris or sharp pellets of rain. But nothing came except for the distant clatter and a black shape shooting out from the depths of the bell tower and into Falcon's hands. He watched, frozen, as Falcon put on her helmet with the same look in her gunmetal gray eyes.

He wasn't sure what was more disturbing – the look of fury on her face, or the sinister expressionless black glass over it. Smoke raised one weak, defiant hand to stop her, but Falcon was already off, disappearing like a silvery-black ghost into the night. The words had already left his lips by the time she was gone.

"Who is '_we'_?"


	28. Chapter 28: Attachment

**Whew, almost to the end! This chapter is mostly set in Episode 12: Intervention, but there are some canon changes I made. They are somewhat minor, and don't affect the story _too_ much. Aunt May, for example, is asleep for most of the time while in the hospital, and Spider-Man briefly passed out after pulling off the symbiote. I imagined it took a lot of emotional and mental energy to get it off, and since it's his first time dealing with it, he probably needed a minute or two of breather. Either way, Falcon shows up about ten seconds after the fact and he's already getting up, so I don't think it weakens the character. **

**Anyways, I know this was the chapter a few of you were anticipating - I'm looking at you WinterRain36 and Knightmare1986 - you especially wanted to see a certain scene come to fruition, so here it is! Hopefully, you're both still reading this, as well as everyone else who has reviewd in the past :)**

**Reviews and responses are always welcomed! Enjoy!**

* * *

Chapter Twenty Eight

Attachment

_We are strong. _

_ We are powerful._

_ We are one._

Falcon shook, dropping to her knees. Through the pounding headache, she opened her eyes and looked down on the city below. Rain pelted off her helmet, soaking through her suit. She shivered, but not because of the cold. The metal of the eagle below her felt so soft, so pliable beneath her fingers. She wanted to clench her fists and watch it crush and crumple beneath her feet.

The Chrysler Building. In the wee hours of the morning, no one was here, no one would noticed Falcon talking to herself, fighting with herself. It's why she landed there in the first place. She needed the isolation, the sheer height to regain what she was surely losing her mind.

_Don't fight it_, the Voice said, soft and soothing, like her mother's voice when she had suffered a nightmare as a little girl. _We are a part of each other, we are stronger together. Why do you want to go? It hurts to be alone._

It was right. Falcon didn't want to let go, but something inside her head wanted to run as far away as possible. It didn't want to secede into the tempting bliss the arms of the Voice offered towards it. They were not the welcoming arms of a friend, but that of a poison. A toxin. Something that would eat her alive, from the inside out.

_You're not thinking clearly_. The Voice told her, admonishing. Even though it was separate from her mind, Falcon could sense it's emotions, it intentions with absolute clarity. It was disappointed in her. It felt betrayed. _I have so much to give you, so much to repay. You have taught me so much about what it is like to live – really LIVE_. _Love, anger, fear, all the things that make you strong. We can be stronger still. Please. Just accept it._

She could feel it. The quivering muscles, the massive power she held in her hands. So easy to control, so easy to lose it. It would help Falcon. She would never lose control again.

She would never have to be afraid again.

_Never again_.

But Falcon still could not do it. Even as she could feel it crawling over her arms and legs, she couldn't quite give in.

The Voice was getting impatient. It had waited so long – an agonizingly long time – for just this moment. Falcon was ready, she was weak and needed the bond, and yet she refused it. It didn't like it when she disagreed, when all it wanted was her best interests. Everything it did was for her, all it wanted was for her to be happy and safe. Did she not see that?

Maybe Falcon did, but was seeing something else. She couldn't make the final step, the one where she removed her last boundaries, did away with all morality and conscience that kept her from effectively reaching her goals. That very conscience was keeping her from going through with it completely. _Ignore her. She knows nothing, doesn't know how much you want this. How this will be good for us._

Falcon could feel it. She had little willpower left, something that her even conscience couldn't help. She was sick, she was tired, she just wanted to go home. She just wanted her mother back. Because of her conscience, she saved the wrong person, and that person betrayed her. What good was a conscience if it only got her hurt? The Voice never did that. It never would, either. It would take care of her, make sure everything is all right.

_There you go_. The Voice said with a smile. Falcon didn't feel the cold rain anymore, didn't feel the pain in her fresh cuts and bruises. It melted away, leaving only warmth and comfort behind. _We are perfect together, don't you see? Why must you always make it hard on yourself? This was meant for you._

Yes. Oh, this was so much easier. Falcon sighed, letting her head fall back. It covered her skin, a protective sheath from everything that wanted to do her harm. Yes, all it wanted was to keep her safe, keep her alive.

_We are not Amelia Fletcher anymore_, the Voice told her, triumphant in its victory. It enjoyed the control, the use of her limbs and powers. And who was Falcon to complain? It would keep them in check. _And we are no longer Falcon. We are..._

"Toxin," she murmured with a smile. She could feel the Voice, in its physical form, enveloping her.

Her red-orange crest turned white – removing the last of her origin, the last of her traitorous namesake. She welcomed the change, the silver-rainbow wings turning as silky and inky black as a raven's. The metal was stronger, her suit tougher. Sentient. Alive. Better.

Toxin wanted to hurt, to kill. She wanted to go back and finish what she started. The White Rose weren't afraid of Falcon, but they had no idea just how ruthless Toxin could be. She wanted to end this petty battle between them.

But she still had unfinished business.

_Spider-Man_, the Voice spat with jealousy. _He will try to stop us. He doesn't understand what we are, what we can be. We must stop him first_.

But why be hasty? Toxin wanted to relish in the peace while she still could. She didn't want to get involved in any unnecessary fights, at least not until the time was right. _In due time, we will act. But first, we have something to take care of_.

OoOoO

In the hospital waiting room, I waited. A small part of me continued to fight off the urge to speak about myself in the plurality – I couldn't very well say that 'we' were going to see 'our' Aunt May when there was only one of me standing in front of the receptionist's desk. My secret identity was still a priority, no matter how much the Voice complained.

It seethed and writhed when I discovered Peter to still not have arrived, to find Aunt May still comatose. It wanted to grab the nearest doctor and slam him into a wall, demand he fix Aunt May _right now or else_. I have suffered far too long to lose someone else, someone so close to saving only to have them ripped away at the last moment.

Even now, watching Aunt May sleep several hours before the sun would rise, I could not stop thinking about Mom. And Smoke, but mostly Mom. How could I have been so stupid? How could I have fallen for what was so obviously a trap? Why did I have to chose Smoke? What compelled me to save a life not worth saving?

I cried. For a lot of things, but mostly for Mom and the way my life seemed to be taking a downward spiral. The Voice was supposed to help, but all it wanted to do was smash and destroy things. The scientist in me was what kept me from losing myself to my emotions – at the very least, I had to remain composed. I had to keep it in. I just had to.

Peter didn't show up until well after 8 o'clock. School started almost an hour ago but I didn't care. Neither did the Voice; it cared less about school than the thugs I almost killed last night. It meant nothing now.

Although my radar was off, I could sense Peter's approach. His anger, his resentment – how, the Voice didn't tell me. Why he stood out, above all others, I wasn't sure. But even as he walked in, the surge of emotions had me itching and unsettled. It was too much. I couldn't take it. It filled the room, so thick I could almost feel it.

I stood, so abruptly my chair almost fell. I stalked out of the room, Peter frowning at me and my silent exit. No hellos, no formalities. It wasn't like me but I felt no reason to be polite or relay information. When our eyes connected, I felt a surge of anger and scowled. Without meaning to but certainly not regretting it, our shoulders hit each other.

Peter was a lot more solid than I expected, certainly not from a geek who spent most of his time on the computer. Yet the Voice, having become part of my clothing as protection, writhed at the contact. It wished to expand, to prepare for battle. It liked nothing about Peter, and I almost wished to start the fight. In fact, I was already turning around, ready to throw the first punch.

Then the doctor walked in and I unclenched my fist. Another time, then.

As Peter waited in the room, being filled in by the doctor, I waited outside. I briefly considered going to school, but I knew I would only be bored. It was a waste of time – the classes were pointless, and there was no one there I wanted to see.

Several minutes later, Peter walked out again. He didn't quite notice me at first, sitting in one of the chairs with my arms crossed. I had been thinking about what I wanted to say to him, expecting Peter to make the first word, since he hadn't been here in almost two days. When he passed without a glance, I demanded, "Where the hell have _you_ been?"

"What?" Peter turned around, surprised to see me there. His face was drawn into a scowl, no doubt upset at what the doctor told him. Aunt May would be fine; it was the bills that would be the problem. They bothered me, too, but not as much as Peter did.

"You heard me," I said, standing up and crossing my arms. I didn't know whether to be insulted he didn't notice me at all or pleased I'd got the drop on him. Maybe a little of both. I noticed he was wearing a thin black shirt – something I didn't even know he owned. How long had he had it? I wanted to tear it off, rip it to shreds. He shouldn't be wearing that. "Where. The. Hell. Were. You?"

Peter tossed his head in irritation, turning back around and stuffing his hands back into his pockets. "Does it matter? I had places to be. Besides, Eddie's already given me the lecture. I don't need it from you, too."

He started to walk away from me, as if that were the end of it. The Voice didn't like that. For that matter, neither did I.

"Hey, I'm not done talking to you!" I shouted, clenching my fists. How dare he dismiss me like that?

I lunged forward and grabbed his arm. I used more strength than necessary, startling Peter. He whipped around, his other hand going to my shoulder in surprisingly adept countermove – only he froze before commencing, for a moment looking startled that he was about to attack.

"Do you know how many people have called, asking where you were?" I demanded, spitting out the words. I couldn't keep the contempt from my tone, couldn't stop the emotion from spilling through. Already I could tell this wasn't going to be a logical argument between two rational and sane human beings. "You vanish off the face of the earth without telling anyone, and you think you can just walk away from that? I waited _hours_ for you to show up, and it's not till twenty-four hours _after the fact_ until you finally do!"

We were starting to attract attention. Other patients and guests were starting to stare and a nurse was edging towards a phone, watching us with wide eyes. Even though I saw this in my peripheral vision, I didn't pay attention. The problem at hand was right in front of me.

"Well, maybe I've been busy!" he snapped, yanked his arm out of my grip. In the back of my mind, I had been worried I'd might leave bruises, but Peter hardly seem fazed, must less hurt. He shook his arm, trying to get the circulation flowing again, throwing me a dirty look as he took a step back. "Because, if it hasn't already occurred to you, there's a gigantic bill to pay, and I'm the only one in the house who has a job! What the hell do you _think_ I've been doing?"

Of course! I felt stupid for not guessing, but pushed it aside almost immediately. That did not excuse Peter from his faults. "So? Is that supposed to make me feel better when you didn't bother to check in with anyone? Eddie and Gwen knew this before you did, you know that?"

"I've got enough things to deal with right now, I have other stuff I need to do," Peter growled, backing off. He gave me a final look, as if daring me to act out in front of the entire hospital. I did not like being challenged. I hesitated, and he smirked, but it held no humor. "Hmph. That's what I thought."

_Kill him_, the Voice hissed.

That wasn't exactly my intention, but I didn't have too much in mind when I slammed both hands into Peter's chest, uttering an incoherent cry of rage.

"Oof!" he stumbled and fell backwards, but was back up in a second. It was clear in Peter's stance that he did not intend to walk away from this fight. He struck out with his fist, hitting my arms as I brought them up to defend myself. But he was still coming, and I was knocked back as he slammed me with his shoulder.

I heard the gasps, the little screams of alarm. The nurse shouted, "Orderly! Orderly! Break them up!"

We weren't done yet. I regained my balance within the second and swung my own fist. Surprisingly, Peter managed to catch it, but I was still faster. I didn't hesitate to think on his quick reflexes before bringing up my other hand out of the feint, catching Peter across the face.

I hit him hard enough to let go of my hand. I wanted to finish it, but just then two large arms looped around mine, hauling me back with sudden ferocity. I screamed, but I might have already been screaming, I couldn't tell until now. All I could see was red and Peter's face as he was pulled back as well. The orderly who had grabbed him had the misfortune of being shorter. Peter put up a good fight, ready to get back into the fray, but the orderly held on.

The orderlies held us back with straining muscles, trying to keep two surprisingly strong teens from tearing each other apart. The air between us crackled with tension. There was a bloody scrap on Peter's cheek where I had hit him, and I could feel the bruises forming on my arm and chest. _Damn_, he had quite a punch.

The Voice still wanted to rip his throat out, but even as we panted and fought against the orderlies, I could feel my strength waning. Even Peter seemed to be calming down, if by calming down you mean clenching your fists and shifting your shoulders for another fight. When it seemed clear that we wouldn't try to kill each other again, the orderlies' loosened their grip.

Peter shoved his human restraint away. The orderly grunted as he was slammed against the wall, sliding to the ground in a stunned heap. Peter wiped at his bleeding cheek before giving me a look that could melt icebergs. He sniffed, giving me a look as if by the intervention I had gotten the better end of the fight, and stalked away without a look back.

I could hear the chatter around me, even as Peter disappeared around the corner. Snickering and whispering, a crowd pleased with what they saw; almost disappointed it had been interrupted. They enjoyed the scene, relished in its raw and crude action, the lack of choreography and skill usually seen on TV.

The orderly had let me go some time ago, but I hadn't noticed. I had barely managed to stop myself from tearing after Peter, to finish the fight.

I heard someone chuckle behind me. "Well, you know what they saw. Blood is thicker than water. Heh."

The hell did that mean? I whipped around to find that man who said that, but couldn't pick him out in the crowd. Everyone who was looking at me looked away, as if expecting me to go after _them_ next. The talking ceased and the hall fell quiet. I could sense actually sense the fear in the air. They were afraid of me.

Still panting, I shook my head. What the hell had gotten into me? I had never wanted to hurt someone so bad in my life – and never someone I cared about. I liked Peter – even now, I couldn't find a legitimate reason to hate him. He was family and he had his own issues, so what? I couldn't accuse him of not being perfect. Following Spider-Man around at all hours of the night, that couldn't have been easy. I shouldn't have been so harsh.

But that didn't quell the Voice's bloodlust. I still wanted to hit something, to break something. I couldn't go back to school, not in this state. So easily provoked...I might actually do something I'd regret.

No. No school. If someone there got hurt, then there was no way I could ever forgive myself.

The Gym would have to do.

OoOoO

I went against that punching bag for hours.

No matter where I went, I couldn't avoid the attention. I supposed it wasn't every day those guys got to see a tiny girl hammering a punching bag with unrelenting determination. I imagined some of them to be quite intimidated. Surely the look on my face welcomed no questions to the matter. I didn't care, I wasn't asking for the attention. I just wanted time to myself. Time to think. Time to sort this out.

_Wham! Thud!_

As exhausted as I felt earlier, I couldn't seem to stop going here. I couldn't stop punching. I _wouldn't_ stop. I wasn't done, I wasn't tired, I wasn't sad yet. Just angry that I let myself act out of control, afraid of what I could've done.

_Whumph!_

What if the orderlies hadn't gotten there on time? How badly would I have hurt Peter before I finally stopped myself? _If_ I stopped myself? If I had gotten on long enough, would I forget what I was even doing? Would the Voice take over, gleefully finishing the job for me?

_Thud!_

The Voice had no compunctions towards other human life. I didn't need anyone to tell me that. It was telling me it right now. It was there for me and me only. Anyone who got in the way was fair game as far as it was concerned.

_Thump! Whuff!_

And it made me scared. Angry that it wouldn't listen to me, but more frightened that I might start listening to _it_.

_Wham!_

I couldn't help myself. Whatever it wanted me to do, it felt good doing it. I _wanted_ to do it, even though I knew it was wrong. Like every time someone walked by and splashed water on me when they dunked their water bottle over their heads, I wanted to grab that water bottle with my mind and rip it to a million pieces. It wouldn't be my fault – they should've been more careful.

_Whump!_

I loved it. I loved the feeling of getting my way. I didn't want that to change. For once in my life, I wanted something good to happen to me. It was even better what it was because of my doing. That triumph, that success. It was the best feeling in the world.

_WHAM!_

I watched, fist still outstretched, as bag broke beneath my knuckles. Sand exploded from the wound, scattering across me and the floor. It wouldn't stop – like a waterfall it piled up, twenty pounds of punching bag deflating. I heard the catcalls and laughter, but didn't really listen. I just stared at the mess I made, wondering if I had really done that.

"Clean it up, Amy," I heard Danny call. I looked up at him, saw the disapproval on his face. I expected him to lecture me, like he did last time, but the man only shook his head and closed his eyes. "The broom is in the closet. When you're done with that, you can go home."

There seemed to be something silent he implied with that. _And don't come back until you've had an attitude adjustment_.

That just made me angrier.

I cleaned up like he told me too, but didn't say a word about to anyone else. I was glad that no one tried to approach me, but surprised that no one seemed to care. I was in trouble, didn't they see that? Didn't they see I needed help? How could they not care?

Maybe they did and were too afraid. Maybe it wouldn't matter anyways, because all they had to offer were assurances and empty words. I had bigger stuff to worry about, anyways.

I had to hold back tears, because I could feel the urge to cry again. Cry at the mess I made, cry because everyone was staring and not speaking to me. I didn't hide, I didn't fit in – I was standing out, and everyone was talking about it. Like I was the Freak again.

Freaky Amy. Ugh.

I nearly broke the broom when I threw it back into the closet. A part of me wanted to make it up to Danny, but the Voice said: don't bother. The past is the past. This place was a dump anyways.

I expected Eddie to be waiting for me on his motorcycle outside, as he always did. But today, the street was completely empty. I waited five, ten, twenty, forty-five minutes and he never showed. No gunning engine, no leather jacket. Where the hell was he? On some sort of date? What would he do, take some pretty girl on a joyride on his motorcycle? I couldn't imagine too many people liking the crazy way Eddie drives. Besides, he never mentioned anything like that. He would've told me.

_We can't rely on anyone_. The Voice told her, scathing and smug to be proven right again. _It's every man and woman for themselves. We don't need anyone else._

The anger was back. Even as the sky grew dark, I could see red. Despite everything, I wanted to hurt someone. Not a punching bag, not a lifeless piece of canvass and sand – I wanted to feel and hear their pain, relish in it. Know that someone out there was having a worse day than me. Just to know that I wasn't alone in my helplessness.

The Voice was ever ready with an answer to my problems. For the first time, I didn't reject it.

_Find Spider-Man_, it whispered, its tantalizing touch inside my head urging me to take flight. _After all, he could've saved your mother. He could have saved you. But he didn't – and where are you now because of him?_

It was right. Spider-Man was supposed to save the innocent, protect them from harm. But where was he when my mother was taken, when I was thrown out that window? Why wasn't he there to keep my life from falling apart?

I could feel the tears breaking over my cheeks. This was Spider-Man's fault. And he would pay. We will make sure of it.

OoOoO

Sensing him was so easy, Toxin should have done this a lot sooner.

But her timing was absolutely perfect. So perfect, in fact, that she wondered if the Voice had planned this out beforehand.

Even without the Voice's help, Toxin could have located Spider-Man easily through the ruckus he was making. The ringing bell tower of midnight, although it had struck several gongs too late. The Voice drew her nearer and she could already taste victory on her lips. This would be so simple, so easy – Spider-Man wouldn't stand a chance.

Landing within the bell tower, Toxin did not expect to find an unconscious Spider-Man lying on the wooden floorboards. She came here for a fight, not some mercy kill. Stepping over his prone body, Toxin noted he had his old red-and-blue costume back. Hmm, odd. Where did the black suit go? Surely it was nearby. She could sense it, yearning to be whole again...

Ah, there it was...

As Toxin extended a hand to reach for the creeping, crawling black symbiote from its bucket – unceremoniously dumped, in her opinion – she heard Spider-Man groan behind her. Then his startled shout, "No, Falcon, don't!"

"Shut up!" she hissed, swinging her other hand at him. Spider-Man grunted as he was suddenly lifted into the air and slammed against the stone wall, before dropped to the floor in a heap. "That's not my name anymore. You can call me Toxin now."

She felt it – all of it – slide across her body. The symbiote welcomed its reconnection, two parts split for so long. Toxin could already feel the burst in power – saw before her own eyes. Never before had she been able to lift a human body before, never before had she such control over sentient beings. She didn't have to lift them up by clothes any more, have to worry about losing her grip. Everything was hers to command, to do as she pleased. Nothing could stand in her way anymore.

"You have no idea what you're doing!" Spider-Man exclaimed, scrambling back to his feet. Although she could not see his face, Toxin could taste his fear. So funny, so enjoyable. She loved to watch him squirm. "Falcon, I know you're still in there! You have to believe me when I saw this, but that symbiote is evil! It feeds off your negative emotions! You have to let it go!"

"_We_ don't have to do anything!" Toxin shouted, swiping her hand through the air. Spider-Man was tossed aside by an invisible force. However good his supernatural reflexes were, they stood no match against an unstoppable, unavoidable force. "You have no one but yourself to thank for this. After all, if you're the reason we are Toxin."

"You aren't Toxin!" Spider-Man was agile enough to flip around the wall of the bell tower, sticking to the side as she tried to grab him again. He stuck his head around the side, skirting about the outside wall as she went after him. "You're Falcon, you save people's lives! You protect the City!"

"Forget the people!" she spat, clenching her fists and punching the air. The rock of the tower wall cracked and crumbled, shaking the entire building. Toxin could hear Spider-Man's labored breathing, the result of fighting off the symbiote. He hadn't wanted to let it go either, and it had taken its toll. This shouldn't take too long. "I was never in this to protect your stupid City! It was merely a means to an end! I could care less what happened to New York so long as I get what I want!"

Spider-Man cried out as she yanked him back down, pinned by the same invisible force that once meant him no harm. Spider-Man still squirmed though, even as she brought him back inside and slammed him against the wall. Toxin watched as his head cracked against the stone and he flopped against the cold wall, exhausted and injured.

Spider-Man was completely unable to move as Toxin drew nearer. She extended her hand and he winced, expecting another blow. But instead she bended at the knee, rested her hand on his head. For a strange moment, he relaxed, as if this were a motion of comfort or kindness.

But that idea was quickly abated when her fingers tightened and pulled, ripping off the mask that had hidden Spider-Man's expression for so long. "Falcon, no!"

Too late. She had seen his face.

For a moment, Toxin remained absolutely still, staring with her black visor at his face. The Voice in her head couldn't quite comprehend it, but the recently adjoined symbiote was quick to fill in the details. But Toxin didn't need their help in telling her who he really was.

Even though he couldn't see it, Toxin grinned. "Well, well. Of all the people, we should've known it was you, Peter Parker. Who would've thought it was the _nerd_ to be the hero behind the mask? Bravo."

"H-how do you know my name?" Peter stared at her, completely at a loss. It was one thing for someone to see your face, it was another matter entirely when they recognized it. "Wait, do I know you? Who are you? Falcon, tell me!"

"I _said!_" she stood up and kicked him in the stomach, hard enough to knock the breath out of his lungs. "_that is not my name!_"

Even through his coughing fits, Peter squinted up at her. "Not a 'we' anymore, Falcon?"

"Shut up!" she hissed, cursing herself for her own mistake. The Voice wanted to strangle him, but Toxin had better ideas. She chuckled, dropping the mask beside body. Spider-Man/Peter Parker tried to reach for it, but she still had his arms pinned to his body. "You know who would really benefit from this, Peter? Someone else's life you ruined? Imagine what Eddie Brock would do with this kind of information, hm?"

Peter paled, his eyes widening. "You wouldn't."

"Who's going to stop us?" She shook her head, kicking him aside as she made her way to the ledge of the window. She cast one last look at him before unsheathing her black wings. "I was always faster than you."

She didn't stay long enough for him to point out her second mistake. It had been an instinct response, but Toxin knew that if she kept doing as the Voice told her, it wouldn't care. It would stay, and it would relish the anger and hatred of Eddie Brock once he finally understood the one person who was behind all his misery.

And there was only one place where he would be at this hour. Empire State University.

She laughed to herself. This was going to be wonderful.


	29. Chapter 29: Convergent Thinking

**These chapters are coming surprisingly fast now that I'm getting closer to the ending. Three chapters, tops, after this one. Yay!**

**All reviews are appreciated :D Enjoy!**

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Chapter Twenty Nine

Convergent Thinking

As she tore through the air, at a speed that made the whole world blur, Toxin had to wonder why she didn't figure it out sooner.

With or without the Voice's help, Toxin should have seen the signs. The incredible convenience of the photography, how Peter _always_ seemed to know exactly when and where to be to catch Spider-Man in action – yet always managing to stay out of trouble. Not once had she ever come across him while interacting with Spider-Man. It should've been obvious from the start.

There was the time Flash Thompson had thrown water balloons at Peter. Against all odds he managed to dodge most of them. She frowned when she remembered Peter getting soaked only seconds later. He would've done that to protect his identity – pure, dumb luck is what got him out of that situation.

And the football tryouts! Of course! Another display of Peter's incredible athletic ability, just barely outshone by Harry's own enhanced skill. He would've made the team had he not made one inexplicable fumble at the last moment. Again, Peter backing out before he revealed himself to be something he was not. Something he had kept hidden for so long.

But what really made her embarrassed was how she couldn't figure it out after the attack at Brooklyn labs. Peter disappeared, conveniently long enough for Spider-Man to jump in and handle the situation, only to reappear once the hero had left the scene. After questioning that event for so long (and still not entirely sure what it was about), Toxin was glad to finally have some answers.

Pleased with herself and the new cards Fate had dealt her, Toxin landed in the dewy grass in front of ESU labs. She couldn't see his motorcycle anywhere, but knew Eddie would be around at some point. After losing his job and possibly his stay at college, Eddie would come around to reminisce and obsess – and blame Peter Parker and Spider-Man for all of his problems. Toxin couldn't wait to see the look on his face when he found out they were one and the same.

She supposed she should wait for him inside. As Toxin headed towards the doors, she heard someone shout behind her, "Falcon, wait! I have to talk to you!"  
Toxin turned around, expecting to see Spider-Man but instead recognized Smoke appearing out of the darkness, wisps of black vapor trailing off his coat. She clenched her fists, grit her teeth. An unexpected arrival. What did this nuisance want? "Leave. We want nothing more to do with you."

The look on Smoke's face told her he wasn't going anywhere. He squared his shoulders, set his mouth in a thin line. "No. I've been looking all day for you – I wanted to talk to you, to explain to you about what really happened on Staten Island –"

"So you can feed us more of your lies?" she spat, holding up her hand to stop him. Toxin smiled as he froze, caught in a sudden, invisible grip. She wondered why he didn't phase through right away. "We're not falling for another one of your traps, Smoke. You can go tell your clients that they made a big mistake picking a fight with us. We're coming for _them_ next. Right now, we have business to attend to."

"Falcon, stop –!" Smoke didn't get to finish before she threw him. Across the street and through several buildings, Smoke should have been very hurt, but he only went through them like a ghost. Toxin didn't care so long as he got the message and stayed out of her way.

She continued on her way, entering the building. Although the keycard mechanics were electric, the locks were not, and Toxin easily broke through them. Perhaps she could find a phone inside, bring about Eddie a lot sooner...

OoOoO

Spider-Man panted, throwing out his arms one after the other. This had to be the fastest he'd ever swung in his life.

He had made the right choice by starting off his web-slinging sprint with a slingshot taking him over Manhattan. Falcon – or Toxin, as she suddenly favored to be called – had a huge headstart on him. Those wings went a lot faster when the symbiote protected her when breaking the speed of sound.

Spider-Man could only hope that he reached her before Eddie did. He shuddered at the thought. Not only did she know his secret identity, but she also knew the last person he wanted to find out. How the hell did she recognize him? That meant she either went to Midtown or hung around ESU to know both him and Eddie. But who...

He had some theories. They were so wild he was afraid of believing in them.

And Spider-Man had no clue how he was going to stop a symbiote-controlled Falcon if he couldn't even get close to her. While her telekinetic powers were impressive, she had never been able to lift sentient creatures without some sort of physical aid, such as clothing or tough surfaces. But the symbiote had removed all her inhibitions.

And with it, human compassion. The symbiote cared little for anyone that wasn't its host. It knew love, but that love was singular, and selfish. It nearly took over Spider-Man, and he didn't have the same problems as Falcon did. Granted, he couldn't admit to knowing her very well, but there was no denying that Falcon was kind of a dark person. He just didn't expect someone as uptight as her to fall prey to it so easily. Maybe her powers were more based upon emotions than she had let on.

Spider-Man couldn't be sure until he confronted her again. Now_ that_ was something he didn't look forward to.

He landed on top of ESU labs, looking down through the ceiling windows. Yep, there she was, pacing back and forth. Eddie had yet to show. Spider-Man exhaled, relieved. Thank God. One less person to deal with tonight.

"Yo, Webhead!" Spider-Man whipped around, surprised to see a black form take shape across the building. Before him formed some dude in a black coat, looking a little ticked. "What the hell is going on here?"

"Uh, do I know you?" Spider-Man had never seen this guy before in his life. Did he know Falcon, too? Funny, she never mentioned him. Then again, the guy didn't look like your everyday hero type. Either way, he had powers, and could be a threat. Spider-Man remained wary, even as he stood up and crossed his arms. "Look, this is kind of personal. Falcon's not exactly in her right state of mind –"

"Yeah, I figured that out when she threw me two blocks across the street," the guy didn't look too pleased, although seemed to be in good shape despite of it. He pointed down at the windows, to where Falcon/Toxin was pacing. "Is this normal for dolls like her?"

"If by normal you mean completely homicidal," Spider-Man had to think about it. "Then no. She's not usually this violent."

"So it's not just me?" the guy – Spider-Man had taken to calling him Zorro on account of his rugged gear and appearance of Italian descent – looked relieved, like he was somehow thinking he was reason why Falcon was, well, why she was Toxin now. Spider-Man wasn't sure if he liked this guy or not.

"Probably not. It's the symbiote, it's bonded with her," at the clueless look on Zorro's face, Spider-Man rolled his eyes. Where had this guy been for the past couple weeks, living under a rock? Spider-Man didn't have time to give a detailed walkthrough of what happened, so said in a strained tone: "It's something that dropped in from space about a week ago. It feeds off of strong, negative emotions, and in case you haven't noticed, Falcon seems to be a boiling pot for them. It's not going to be easy getting her out of it, since it's also made her stronger."

"You say it like you've done it before," Zorro said, eyeing Spider-Man with suspicion. Yeah, like the renowned Webhead had to explain himself. Meanwhile, who was _this_ guy, he wondered. He did not like being left out of the loop.

"Fifteen minutes ago, yeah," Spider-Man nodded, not the least bit daunted by the idea. If it worked once, it would work again. He appraised the strange character before him, the domino mask and curly dark hair. Zorro seemed as roguishly handsome as his movie counterpart. And perhaps as lawfully abiding. Not exactly Falcon's type, Spider-Man thought to himself. "Why, you here to help?"

"I prefer her less psychopathic."

Spider-Man grinned. "Then I guess we have something in common. Who are you, anyways?"

But Zorro, in the nice black leather coat that kind of made Spider-Man envious, just smirked and shook his head, "Sorry, need-to-know only. But I'm surprised she never said anything about me. I thought I had left a greater impression than that."

"Well, let's be honest, Falcon wasn't much of a talker anyways," Spider-Man kneeled down on the glass and pointed at the subject of their conversation. "I say we come up with a plan. The symbiote's got a strong hold on her, but that doesn't mean she can't be distracted. It'd be better if she fought it off herself, but seeing as though she _likes_ it, I guess there's only so much we can do. I don't know which one of us she hates more at the moment, but I bet – Whoa!"

Suddenly, the glass shattered beneath him, and suddenly Spider-Man was on the floor of ESU labs, stunned and a little disoriented. Some distance away, Zorro was in the same condition, rolling over on his side and groaning from the impact. Guess that smoke-power he had only worked when he wanted it to. Spider-Man filed that bit of information away for future use.

"Did you really think you could get the drop on us, Spider-Man?" Falcon/Toxin spat, lifting a table and throwing it at him. She didn't seem to mind that there was valuable research and equipment still on top of it, just chucking them along with the rest of the projectile. "Just because we can't see you doesn't mean we can't _hear you_!"

"Holy tolitos!" His spidey-sense was the only thing that saved the hero from being turned into an arachnid-flavored pancake. Spider-Man jumped to his feet, adrenalin having him moving to his regular speed again. Falcon would have a tough time catching him unawares this time around. "You know, Falcon, you're in a sore need of an attitude adjustment!"

"The. Name. Is. TOXIN!" she screeched, and in a fit of anger Falcon threw herself at him. Spider-Man, not expecting this move from a girl who could move things with her minds, chalked it up to sheer emotional impulse. Still, Falcon was surprisingly easy to duck and toss aside. She crashed into a wall of filing cabinets, dropping to the floor like a bag of potatoes. "Ugh!"

"New plan!" Spider-Man shouted over to Zorro, who was still picking himself up. For a super, Zorro seemed to have the resilience of a wet paper towel. Spider-Man groaned inwardly, resigning himself to the fact that this was going to be a little harder than he anticipated. "Get her into the airlock!"

But Falcon laughed, her voice mixing in with the symbiote's. It sounded as though two people were speaking through the same mouth. "Is it really such a good idea to let me know what you plan, Spider-Man? After all, I could tear this whole building apart with a single scream..."

"That," Spider-Man pointed at her. The reverb echo in her voice was a high falsetto and it made his skin crawl. "...is seriously creepy."

Spider-Man, during the midst of the fight, had been trying to figure out how he knew her. Or how Falcon knew him. There were plenty of kids at Midtown and ESU, but how many knew him by name? He tried to pin her down by voice, but the symbiote was screwing things up. "That Voice of the Legion thing so does not go with your look, Falcon."

"Shut _up!_" Falcon/Toxin yelled, clutching her helmet as though it hurt. Spider-Man felt a bit of hope – was she finally starting to shake it off? Was the old, bitter Falcon coming through? He shouldn't have held his breath, because a second later, she hissed, "Do you have anything better to do than joke around? We're sick of it!"

With that, she drew her arms over her head, then whipped them forward, as though she were throwing him a beach ball. Instead, Spider-Man hastily jumped into the air when the dented and broken filing cabinet came at him instead. He stuck to the ceiling, watching as the metal drawers smashed into the opposite wall, sending loose papers and files everywhere. "Okay, I am _not_ picking that up!"

Even though Falcon/Toxin thought he was just being an idiot, Spider-Man was very much in control of the situation. Okay, _kind-of_ in control, but pretty close. He edged towards the back end of the room, sidling across the ceiling, drawing Falcon closer to the glass orb and its open door.

Falcon, despite her claims, was actually falling for it. She seemed too focused on Spider-Man to notice the shadows moving and flickering in the background. Zorro was careful not to take full form, in case Falcon/Toxin decided to use her body-grabbing powers and squish him into a pulp.

Spider-Man known he should've returned the symbiote as soon as he removed it. Yet he had the strange feeling that Falcon might have had it for a while. At least, a small part of it. Not strong enough to take over immediately, but just enough to make her slowly lose her mind.

"Where the hell is that music coming from?" Falcon/Toxin suddenly demanded, looking side to side as if there might be a radio around, playing the guilty music. But Spider-Man heard nothing, and almost winced when Zorro barely escaped Falcon's searching gaze. Yeah, she had definitely lost it.

"Are you hearing things now?" Spider-Man didn't want to make fun of this, because it very much bothered him, but he figured it would tick her off more. He chuckled, jumping back when she threw an incubator at him. At least it wasn't the tank of electric eels. "Maybe that symbiote isn't as great as you thought it was!"

"We are never wrong!" she retorted, bringing down her fists and stomping her foot like an indignant little child. Only a little child couldn't bring down chunks of the roof with a thought. "It was there before the improvement! We will find who did this to us, and destroy them!"

"Come on, Falcon, this isn't you!" Spider-Man tried. Falcon could be hostile, even downright mean, but he'd never seen her hurt someone who didn't deserve it. And never blamed someone else for her problems. "The symbiote is messing with your mind. You're not like this. You're better than this!"

"We are better now than ever before!" she declared and Spider-Man didn't have time to run away from her next attack because the very piece of ceiling he was attached to was thrown into the ground. It shattered on top of him upon impact, sending dust and fibers into the air. Toxin stepped up to him, her feet at his face. "You know nothing of true power, Spider-Man. Or should I say Pete –"

"Now!" Spider-Man shouted over her voice. Suddenly, Falcon's feet disappeared from in front of his face. He jerked around, fascinated as Zorro seemed to tackle Falcon from behind in slow motion, shoving her through the airlock before she could counterattack.

"Get off me!" She punched Zorro square in the face just as Spider-Man jumped up and slammed the glass door shut. Her black, emotionless visor turned to him, and Spider-Man swore he could feel mental daggers being thrown at him. "You think this container can hold us? Well, think again, Webhead, because we're too –!"

"Not in the cards, dove!" Zorro took the hit like a champ, recovering with greater speed than he did with the fall. As Spider-Man hit the thermostat on the glass container, Zorro grabbed Falcon's arm and slammed his shoulder into the glass wall.

The glass should have cracked beneath the force of Zorro's shoulder, but instead he just fell through it. Falcon followed, crying out as she was unwilling forced through solid matter. However, as she appeared through the other side, the symbiote was not attached to her arm anymore. In fact, it remained on the other side, splat against the wall, squirming and screeching for its crazy old host.

All the way through Falcon fell, completely detached from the symbiote. Her cry died in her throat and she collapsed onto the floor, unmoving. Behind him, Spider-Man heard the doors to the labs slam open and shut. He turned to Zorro and ordered, "Get her out of here!"

Zorro only responded with a curt nod, taking an unconscious Falcon up in his arms and disappearing in a wisp of black cloud. It climbed up and through the broken window, just as Eddie Brock arrived on the scene.

He was muttering to himself, sounding upset as usual, until he spotted Spider-Man in front of the airlock, with the symbiote inside. "Spider-Man? You brought it back!"

Eddie Brock sprinted towards the airlock, his face breaking out into a grin. It was the first time in a long time Spider-Man had seen him happy. It hurt, because he knew his bro was not going to like what happened next. "The alien! Aw, this is great! Now I can get my job and – and, wait! What are you doing?!"

Eddie grabbed Spider-Man's wrist and threw it aside, but it was too late. His grin faded into an expression of desperation, fear. "If you set the temperature that low, you'll destroy it!"

Spider-Man knocked his hand aside, forcing himself not to give in to Eddie's pleading. He hated having to betray his old friend, but he had to do it. The symbiote was dangerous and it deserved to be eliminated – otherwise someone else might end up like Falcon. Keeping his tone cold, Spider-Man said, "That's the general idea."

Ice gushed into the chamber, filling it with incredible speed. The glass frosted instantly, covering the symbiote even as it clung to its enclosure. As the temperature continued to drop, the less it moved.

"No!" Eddie shouted, lunging for the thermostat, but Spider-Man held up his arms, blocking his way. "Stop! Let go!"

"Sorry," Spider-Man said, keeping Eddie at bay with ease. He glanced over his shoulder at the immobile symbiote, muttering, "If you knew how dangerous..."

"No!" Eddie slumped against his arms, pulling back as the deed was done. The symbiote had completely frozen over; there was nothing Eddie Brock could do to save it now. His eyes went dead, staring at what was left of his career at the university. "No..."

Spider-Man took one last look at the symbiote, making sure it was frozen and dead for good. Eddie took a step back, his shoulders slack, no longer fighting or saying a word. Spider-Man glanced at his friend, wished he could say just how sorry he was, just what it meant to him to have to do this. But he couldn't. Not after having his identity revealed, not knowing if Falcon was okay or not. Would she tell Zorro? Would she tell the world?

Considering his business done, Spider-Man exited the building, leaving a morose Eddie behind. He located Zorro and Falcon nearby, on the roof of the University's clock tower. As he landed, Spider-Man could already see that Falcon was waking up, and not trying to kill either of them. That was good, but the way she was mumbling and twitching wasn't.

"Is this normal?" for once, Zorro sounded legitimately worried. He was kneeling, propping Falcon up with his arms around her. It was a lot more intimate that Spider-Man expected, and probably something he'd rather not witness. "This isn't normal, is it?"

"I'd say no," Spider-Man said, deciding that whatever was going on between Falcon and this Zorro guy was none of his business. If Falcon liked him, as weird as that may be, than that was her choice. He doubted he'd want to talk about Black Cat with Falcon, anyways, so he decided he would let it go. "But there's something I have to find out..."

He bent down, taking Falcon's helmet between his two hands. Falcon didn't resist, and as Spider-Man started to pull off her cover, he quickly prayed under his breath: "Please don't be Gwen, please don't be Gwen..."

The cover slid off. Her head fell to the side, resting on her shoulder. Dishwater blond hair fell over hooded gray eyes. Spider-Man nearly dropped her helmet.

"No freaking way."


	30. Chapter 30: Delirium

**The calm before the storm. **

**Enjoy!**

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Chapter Thirty

Delirium

Zorro looked back and forth between them, looking alarmed. "Wait a second, do you two know each other?"

Spider-Man was still at a loss for words. This had to be some cruel, cosmic joke the Universe was playing on him. How, in a city of six million people, did the one other hero he knew happened to be sharing _the same house_ with him?

Seriously, what were the odds?

Zorro took his silence as a bad sign. He almost dropped Falcon when he said, "Hold on, you guys weren't _dating_, were you?"

"What?" that question shocked Spider-Man back into reality. He spluttered, not even comprehending the thought. "No! Ew, no! She's just...I just...I _know _her, okay? We're – we're family..."

"So..." Zorro said, still frowning at Spider-Man. Falcon shifted in his arms, mumbling something under her breath. Barely conscious, she twitched, her arm jerking out. The nearby wall of the clock tower cracked, a huge fissure splitting apart the stone. Zorro glanced at the scene, then licked his lips in contemplation before continuing, "You're _not_ together? Is having superpowers a genetic thing in your family?"

"No!" Spider-Man was already grossed out. He threw down the helmet and got to his feet, crossing his arms and starting to pace. He had to think this out, think about what he was going to say. Granted, knowing your cousin was the person who almost beat the crap out of you with her mind was certainly something to chew on, but he still had no idea how...

Okay, scratch that. It wasn't too much of a stretch now that he thought about it. Still, Spider-Man wasn't sure how he was supposed to handle a situation like this. It wasn't like he has six other cousins hiding super powers and secret identities from him. "No. No to the last question. At least, I'm pretty sure. It's not exactly something we talked about over the dinner table..."

"She also probably didn't talk about her psychotic break, huh?"

"Um, no. That was fairly recent." Spider-Man shook his head, scratching his chin. He should've guessed it. He really should have. She had been missing so many days at school lately, as if she suddenly didn't care anymore. Surely now most of her A's had dropped to C's – so unlike Amy to suddenly give up like that after working so hard. That _had_ to be the symbiote's influence working a number on her mind.

And Gwen. Oh, crap. Spider-Man pressed both palms into his eyes, groaning to himself. Gwen. Crap. That was probably why they got into a fight. Not that Gwen knew – unless Amy made her swear an oath of secrecy, but Spider-Man doubted she would keep even _that_ from him in a moment of crisis. Speaking of Gwen (and everyone else at Midtown), he owed a huge apology...

He turned back to the biggest problem at the moment. There were still so many questions Spider-Man wanted to ask. What turned her into Falcon? Where did she get her powers? Just how deeply involved were Oriole Kane and the White Rose in all of this? Falcon didn't just target them because they attacked Oriole Kane; it was no coincidence that Falcon targeted the same people who took Amelia's mother. Of course, it was just a cover, an excuse to protect her true identity. Just like Peter and Uncle Ben.

But did Amy's powers come from a radioactive spider bite? Unlikely. Peter was lucky to even survive that little incident, all odds considered. A science experiment gone wrong, then? New York seemed to be ripe with those. A mild-mannered test subject gets injected with incredible powers and abilities and proceeded to lose their mind and wreck half of New York. Why did this all feel so familiar, so déjà vu?

Captain America. The Hulk. Project UNCLE SAM. Syndicon and Dr. Pigott. The Gray Matter. People or things that relate to the Super Soldier serum, its unknown ingredients, and subsequent failure of remaking it. Maybe Dr. Winters was right. Maybe Amy was a ticking time bomb ready to explode into a giant ball of psychic power. Was she just another Hulk, with mental strength rather than physical? It would not bode well to New York if they suffered another attack like the Hulk had inflicted. Perhaps Spider-Man should make the smart move and turn her in to the government, or the military to watch over. She was just too dangerous to be left alone in this condition.

And yet, Amy was also the longest living test subject of the Gray Matter. Surely that had to mean something? Not all hope was lost. Sure, bonding with the symbiote didn't help, but Spider-Man made it out on top, didn't he? Falcon could recover. She won't end up like the others, crazy and incapable of controlling themselves.

But the question was: how long would it take?

Spider-Man couldn't risk bringing Amy home. Not when Aunt May was ready to come back soon – she definitely didn't need to know her niece had incredible powers that could level the entire borough. And there was always a chance Amy could hurt someone, even herself, by accident. No, she had to be isolated somehow. But everyplace Spider-Man could think of had someone already living in it.

"Um, Earth to Spider-Man?" came a voice, rocking the hero out of his rather long reverie. "Hello? Are we going to do something or just sit here all night until the police find us?"

"Oh, right," Spider-Man shook his head, getting his vision to clear and focusing on the moment. Zorro was starting to look anxious. He probably hadn't stayed in a single place longer than a couple minutes, and after Falcon broke into the labs, he probably feared for his safety. But Spider-Man had yet to hear sirens approach. "We need to find a place to keep her until I figure out how to get her back in shape. I'd say my place but we live in a residential suburban neighborhood, and it's not someplace you can keep a telekinetic crazy person in."

Zorro seemed to catch his implied meaning and shook his head, saying, "Even if I did have a pad (not saying that I do, because I don't), there's no way she's staying there, and for two reasons. One, violation of privacy, and two: I've got a lot of nice stuff I don't want her to break."

"Ugh, fine," Spider-Man grumbled, planting his hands on his fits and studying the shingles on the roof. Of course, it would be a _thief_ who would complain about invasion of privacy. Not that Spider-Man thought Zorro was a thief...although the guy definitely had that look about him. "I'll just...think of something else, then..."

"Doesn't she have her own place?" Zorro asked, and when met with a surprised look by Spider-Man (it was hard to tell, but the sudden jump pretty much implied it), the shadowy dude quickly added, "I don't know, she always seemed secretive! I've followed her once or twice, and she likes to hang around Hell's Kitchen sometimes. Sound significant?"

"Actually, yeah..." Spider-Man was hit by an idea. Actually, it could've been a stroke of genius. He chuckled, snapped his fingers at his moment of Eureka. "That would be _perfect_. I take it you're no stranger to breaking and entering?"

Zorro gave him a wicked grin. "You, sir, are speaking my language."

"Great, because I don't have a key. Let's go!"

OoOoO

Peter had to admit, keeping Amy holed up in her old apartment was a pretty good idea. It worked out even better than he expected – no one asked where she was, he knew exactly how to find her, and never had to worry about her suddenly going on a rampage so long as that Zorro character kept an eye on her. Peter could only trust the guy had honest motives to keep him from abandoning Amy in her time of need.

He hoped to have it solved by the time Aunt May returned to the hospital, but that may not work as well as he'd like. If she came home and figured out Amy hadn't been there in over twenty-four hours, she'd get concerned. And Peter wasn't sure how he was going to cover Amy, especially since she was experiencing the kind of issues that aren't just solved in a day.

But as the day continued, Peter found his hopes rising. Taking down six black-clad goons and stopping a helicopter from crashing onto Manhattan had proven that downgrading to the good old red-and-blue suit hadn't been so bad after all – Peter had adjusted quite nicely without the superior muscles and unlimited webbing. The disappearance of an extra voice in his head was also a plus. And then telling the L. Thompson Lincoln that he could forget having Spider-Man as a lackey? Best. Feeling. Ever.

Then all his friends were cool with his angst the other day. That was what Peter had been really worrying about. He had enough problems to deal with, but knowing his friends had his back meant a lot. Well, except for Eddie. But Peter called and the guy seemed all right. At least, better than he was last night. Maybe he got over it...?

Well, Peter would find out soon enough.

Gwen even came with him to the hospital to visit Aunt May. Granted, she had been acting strange lately, being really talkative and helpful, but maybe she was just missing Amy. He wondered why Gwen hadn't asked about her yet.

Even better news: Aunt May was coming home for Thanksgiving. That was great! He still had one more day to figure out how to save Amy's mind before things went downhill.

Peter had been quick to delay Aunt May's worries about cooking the Thanksgiving dinner. Perhaps too quick, because Peter had no idea how to cook. Maybe Amy could give him some pointers, since her mother had been a genius in the kitchen, but his cousin probably wasn't in the state of mind to do anything other than lie in bed and talk to herself in the third person.

Then Aunt May asked the dreaded question. "Where's Amy? I hoped she had enough money for lunch today."

Of course, she had no idea Amy hadn't been in school for several days. Still, Peter did his best to maintain a venire of normalcy for his Aunt. He didn't want her having another heart attack. "Oh, yeah, she's fine! She has a test in Math, so she's studying at the library. She wanted to come, but you know. She was here most of yesterday, though."

"Oh, poor thing," Aunt May shook her head, adjusting the covers around her while shifting in her gurney. Peter was acutely aware of the sharp glance Gwen gave him, catching onto the lie pretty quick. He would have to wait and gloss things over with her later. "I hope she didn't forget anything. Ugh, all I've done in this bed is be a distraction for everyone. I can't wait to get home and _do_ something again."

"You aren't a distraction, Ms. Parker!" Gwen protested, still glaring at Peter. She took hold of his arm, pulling back as she threw a smile at Aunt May, "Can you excuse us for a moment? I have to talk to Peter about...homework."

She dragged him out to the hall, closing the door to Aunt May's room behind her. Gwen already had the Look on her face, and Peter prepared himself to get verbally frisked. "Why did you lie? I'm not going to say I don't care, because I do, but where the heck is Amy? I haven't seen her in days. Not at school, not at the library, not anywhere. Is she all right?"

"She's, um, fine," Peter laughed, desperately trying to hide his nervousness with a little humor. It wasn't working, because Gwen just crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. He held up his hands, saying, "I just – I can't tell Aunt May that, Gwen! I just can't!"

"You didn't answer my question," Gwen jabbed a finger in his chest, turning the dial on her Look all the way up. "_Where. Is. Amy_?"

Peter looked around, trying to find a way to weasel out of this situation. But it only reminded him of his fight with Amy, how they nearly tore each other to pieces. He had never hit someone before, at least not as Peter. The memory only made him realize that this issue was very much a part of his civilian life, and that maybe Gwen deserved to know. "All...all right. She's been – Amy's been sick. Like, _really_ sick. The kind of sick you don't want to get near to."

"Oh." Gwen jerked back, drawing her hand away as though Peter were suddenly covered in germs. The Look was quickly replaced by one with worry and he wondered if he could just leave it at that. "Like, the flu? Did you take her to the doctor? It might be serious."

"No, it's just a cold," Peter said, wishing his excuse didn't sound as lame as it did coming out of his mouth. He could already see the suspicion returning to Gwen's eyes. "A really bad one. Seriously, you don't want to –"

"Is she at home right now?" Gwen asked, as if the answer wasn't as logical as it first seemed. Peter would have confirmed it but the way she said it sounded like she knew he was talking crap. "Can I see her?"

"Um..."

"Peter!" she snapped, getting him to jump. Gwen winced a little at her volume, but continued on. "Look, I know me and Amy haven't been on good terms, but I really want to talk to her. Something's...something just wasn't right about Amy the last time I saw her at school. Is it really just a cold?"

Peter sighed, realizing there may be only one way to calm Gwen's suspicions. "No...but I can't explain it. You'll just have to see for yourself."

OoOoO

The apartment was a lot worse when they arrived than when Peter last saw it.

Furniture overturned. Glass and plates broken. Cracks in the walls and pots and pans scattered across the kitchen counter. The curtains on the living room window had been torn off, hanging only by a thread. Various bits and pieces scatter the floor: Paper towels, dish clothes, utensils and shredded magazines. There was even a huge hole in the wall next to the bathroom – as if Amy might have punched through it at some point.

"Oh, my god," Gwen said upon seeing the hole. Actually, she had been saying it the whole time, but said it _really_ loud upon the sight of Amy's carnage. "Did _Amy _do this? I hope she didn't hurt herself..."

Peter smirked to himself, stuffing his hands in his pockets. For all of Amy's issues right now, he doubted her physical durability had been compromised. "I think we'd know if she did. Come on, she's in her room. I think."

Well, he was right on one point. Amy _was_ in her room. Only her room looked nothing like it used to. All her movie posters had been torn off the walls, frames of her favorite autographs thrown across the room. Her lamp light shattered. All the covers had been removed from the bed and thrown to the floor in a haphazard manner. Peter could hear Amy's whispers but didn't find her until he pulled up the fallen comforter, finding his cousin curled up underneath, holding herself tight in the fetal position.

Amy flinched when sudden light hit her eyes. She gasped, covering her face with her hands. At least she had the sense to change out of her costume and put on regular clothes, although her choice wouldn't have made any more sense than the black suit. Sweatpants, a white blouse, and mismatched socks.

"Oh, Amy," Gwen dropped to her knees, tentatively reaching out and pulling away at Amy's hands so Gwen could see her face. Amy refused and no matter what Gwen did, she could not pry off the hands. "Amy, please look at me. I'm sorry. I wish I..."

"Stop it..." Amy shook her head, her hands moving from her eyes to her ears, rolling onto her other side. "Stop the music...make it go away..."

"What...what music?" Gwen drew back her hand, looking up at Peter with a look of utter disbelief on her face. "I don't hear anything."

"I don't know. She's been saying that. I think it's in her head."

"She's hallucinating?"

"Maybe. I don't know."

"We really need to get her help," Gwen stood up, speaking with finality. She held her arms stiffly at her sides, taking in a deep breath before setting her lips in a grim line. "This isn't healthy, and it's not safe, either. She needs professional help, Pete. We can't just leave her here and hope it gets better."

"We can't put her in a hospital," Peter shook his head, trying to find a reasonable answer to give. He couldn't very well tell Gwen that there was no place in the world that could handle Amy or her powers. "Or an asylum. She hates those places. They give her bad memories."

"Well, what she wants isn't important right now," Gwen shook her head, dismissing Peter's protests with depressing ease. "What she _needs_ is a doctor. Doesn't she have a psychiatrist or something?"

"Yeah, I think so," Peter blinked, surprised. He had completely forgotten. Amy never liked that psychiatrist and Peter remembered she had stopped going to her appointments some time ago. He supposed she didn't like doctors, either. But it was the best he had until Gwen enforced her ultimatum. "I'll go to him, first. See what he says. Maybe...maybe it's just all in her head, maybe she can work through it. If she can survive a ten story fall, she can make through this."

Gwen nodded, but still looked doubtful. "I hope so. But it's like something my dad always said: sometimes the deepest wounds are the ones you can't see."

OoOoO

Finding Dr. Kindell's office was easy enough. Peter found the address in Aunt May's calendar book, along with a number. He didn't have a doctor's notice to get an appointment with the doctor, as the secretary deemed required, but she quickly gave over when he mentioned Amy's name. The secretary said the Kindell wanted to see him ASAP.

Peter was only too happy to oblige.

The office building itself was pretty bland. Pastel walls, grey carpeted floor, and bland Ikea furniture. It _looked_ and _smelled_ like a place for crazy people, its dull simplicity seeming to enforce an unwilling calmness in the air. Peter didn't like it, and he could understand why Amy wouldn't, either.

Dr. Kindell's office was nicer, if only because the chairs were leather and really comfy. The man himself seemed incredibly eager to meet Peter – hands on his desk, folded on top of one another, facing the door with a look of expectation. How long had he been sitting like that? It made Peter a little uncomfortable.

The doctor got right to the point. "I take it Amy is not well if you were the one to show up instead of her."

"To be honest, I'd have to drag her back here even if she was perfectly fine," Peter admitted, wondering what made Amy dislike this man so much. Maybe her hatred of hospitals extended to doctors as well, by default. "But that's not the point. I think...I think Amy's had a psychotic break."

Kindell didn't seem surprised. With the tone of clinical stoicism, he adjusted his glasses and asked, "Describe it to me."

As Peter went through the list of things he'd witnessed so far, he watched as Dr. Kindell nodded and scratched at his graying beard. He didn't say or ask anything as Peter went on, just took it all in with an indiscernible expression on his face. When Peter was done, he said, "And this was completely unexpected? No warning signs, no bad situations?"

"Is that a part of psychotic breaks?"

"Sometimes."

Peter frowned, taking this in. Then he shook his head and said, "No, for a while she's been different. Darker, I suppose. I...I don't know how to describe it. Like she's depressed and angry at the same time. Really, really angry."

"And what do you think might have started this?"

Peter had to be careful what he said. Honestly, he was pretty sure some experiences as Falcon had something to do with it, particularly the symbiote, but he had to choose his words with particular cautiousness without giving her away. "I don't really know. A couple weeks ago, I guess, was the notable difference. She started taking Judo lessons, which I guess isn't a warning sign at first, but then she started getting paranoid. Like she was being watched all the time. Like she couldn't trust people anymore. Before all that, she got into a fight with Gwen – they were best friends – about when she vanished after a disaster at APEX tower. I think Amy might have...might have hurt Gwen if she didn't tell her to leave. I don't know, I just heard it, but Amy was pretty shaken afterwards. I think she was scared she might actually lose control."

"And does she experience panic attacks?" Dr. Kindell asked, not looking startled at any of this information. He must know a lot, or maybe this was just normal behavior for people who lose their minds. "Have bouts of delirium? She doesn't take medication, does she?"

"No, I don't think so. She does get nightmares sometimes."

"Hmm," Dr. Kindell nodded, looking down at his desk in contemplation. Peter found it odd that the man hadn't taken any notes, had done nothing but memorize Peter's words in his head. After a moment, he spoke, "I believe Amy may be suffering from acute PTSD. Do you know what that is?"

Ask a stupid question. "Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, yeah."

"I imagine it all started long before you even saw the change, back when her mother first disappeared," Dr. Kindell guessed, opening a file and looking through the sheets of paper, as though refreshing his mind. Peter assumed these were probably Amy's files. "And maybe it was easier to handle when she still had friends to talk to, when she didn't feel utterly alone and against the world. Losing her best friend, I believe, would have been the catalyst for the latter. Would you say you're close to your cousin, Peter?"

"Um, I don't know," He shrugged. Peter was starting to hate having to keep saying that. "We talked...but never about those things. I just figured that, you know, when she was ready..."

"That she would open up to you, yes," Dr. Kindell finished his sentence for him, closing his eyes and nodding like this was the expected answer. He didn't seem disappointed or angry that Peter didn't try harder. "And in most situations, it's the best course of action. I commend you for not forcing it out of her. But the plan only works if the subject is willing and feels able to do so. I imagine, due to current events, that she did not ever feel this way."

"Probably not."

"And now she feels so trapped she's locked herself inside her head," Dr. Kindell leaned back in his seat, the chair creaking under the weight. He rested his hands against his stomach, eyeing Peter with a thoughtful look. "A defense mechanism to protect herself from more pain and fear. And any loss of control, physical or mental, is a psychosomatic disorder placed upon herself. She believes she is out of control, so she hides within herself, subconsciously thinking this will solve the problem."

"But it's not. So how do I fix it?" Peter asked. He hoped to God that the doctor knew what he was talking about, because this was making very little sense to him.

"You can't," Peter opened his mouth to object to this, but Dr. Kindell held up a placating hand and continued, "Bear with me, Peter, it's not as bad as it sounds. For Amy to get back in control, she must _believe_ she is control. Not told, not lied to. She must have confidence in herself, overcome her crippling fears. Mind over matter, as they say."

Peter almost smiled. How appropriate. "But how can she do that on her own? I can't even talk to her without hearing her talk about music no one can hear."

"Learn where that music came from," Dr. Kindell told him, as if this were perfectly obvious. Peter felt frustrated by how simple the doctor made it sound. "It had to come from somewhere, perhaps related to something she obsessed about. Do you think you know what that might be?"

Peter shook his head. Again, he never talked to Amy about these kinds of things.

"Then look through her old apartment. I believe I suggested that to her some time ago, but I don't think she ever did it. I believe it will open some doors she hasn't visited in a long time. Maybe she even found one already."

"How long will this take, do you think?"

"That depends on her."

Peter sighed. Of course it did. As much as he didn't like it, the circumstances lied very much in Amy's behavior, which was erratic at best and destructive at worst. He didn't like the odds. This didn't feel as easy as the doctor made it sound. "I hope you're right, doc. Because I don't think I have a lot of time."

"I take it you haven't had her put in a ward, yet, have you?"

"No. If it really does depend on her, like you said, then I don't think there's a lot those doctors can do."

Dr. Kindell smiled at him. "You better go, then. Best of luck."

"Thanks," Peter muttered, getting out of his seat and heading for the door. "Hopefully, I won't need it."

OoOoO

While Dr. Kindell's insight helped Peter understand Amy's condition – but that didn't make him think she could end it before Thanksgiving.

Amy would have to fight back, in her mind, just like Peter did with the symbiote. Maybe that was the problem – he didn't give her the chance to. She was torn out of it, still bonded to the symbiote, still in need of it. Peter rejected it, and it peeled off. He wished he had given her the opportunity during the fight in the lab, but he was so pressed for time; the longer Amy was attached to it, the more she wanted to keep it. How long would it have taken to jar her back to reality, if at all possible?

Maybe it was for the best. If Amy hadn't been pulled out when she did, she may have never let it go.

Peter returned to the apartment in Hell's Kitchen to tell Gwen what he had learned. It made her feel better, getting the word of an expert. He knew it would keep her from pressing the issue of getting Amy to an asylum – he had a few days at best, but if Amy did something drastic, then it would all go down the drain.

At least Gwen had kept an eye on her while he was out. She had even cleaned up a little, turned the disaster area a little bit livable. She pointed out the refrigerator, "No food, but at least the water still runs. From the looks of the boxes, Amy's probably been eating crackers and chips when she wasn't busy tearing the place apart."

"Has she talked at all? Moved?"

"I got her to sit down. The only place she won't touch is her mom's bedroom. That place is completely clean. I think memories are subconsciously keeping her from going inside." Gwen looked a little wiped out, probably from all the cleaning and fighting with Amy. No doubt the girl would have put up a fight against anything she didn't want to do. Which would be everything. "She's just staring at the wall, but at least she's calmed down. She didn't want to go in there at first. I think she's afraid of...well, I don't know what's going on in her head..."

She led him through the hallway to the bedroom. While the floor had been swept, the hole in the wall was a glaring reminder that things were not as nice as they looked. "Has she said anything else about the music?"

"Not until I got her in the room," Gwen replied, opening the door. She motioned to Amy, who was sitting on the bed cross-legged, expression blank and unblinking. It was a sudden change to how Peter last remembered her. "Sometimes Amy hums, but other than that doesn't ask for anything besides water. I'd say Amy's lucid...but she doesn't always react to what I say. Although..."

"What?" Peter frowned at her, gauging the uncertain look on Gwen's face, the way her eyes flicked around the room. "Is something wrong? Did Amy do something?"

"It's not something she _did_," Gwen shook her head, walking into the room and sitting on the bed beside Amy. She didn't even flinch at the movement, or the gentle hand as it rested on her shoulder. She just kept staring at the wall of photos across from the bed. "It's something she _said. _She kept talking about a circus, a box of secrets. Amy actually sounded like she knew what she was talking about, and tried to show me it...but she just stood in front of the hole she made. I checked three times, but nothing was inside."

"A circus?" that seemed incredibly unimportant, and almost nothing to do with anything Amy had been through. What the hell had brought _that_ on? Had she watched a movie, saw something on TV? Peter scratched the back of his head and went to look at the wall Amy was staring at. Maybe there was a reason she was so focused on it. "That's...um, random."

"That's what I thought," Gwen admitted, pushing Amy's hair aside (it was pretty messy), in the hopes of getting her attention, but Amy didn't react to the touch. Gwen dropped her hand, disappointed. "But I think she's just hallucinating again, like with the music. It's pretty bad, Peter. I don't think she can fight her way out of it."

"Of course she can!" Peter almost shouted. Gwen jumped, and threw him a indignant look. Peter sighed and looked away, leaning against the wall. "Sorry, I just...it's bad enough losing one family member. Between her and Aunt May, they're the only family I've got. I can't have both in the hospital, one close to death, the other losing her mind...it's like a big cosmic joke the Universe is playing on me."

"It's not some chance act that this happened," Gwen told him. She slid off the bed and approached him, taking her hand in his. Peter turned and looked at her deep, pleading gaze. "Like Dr. Kindell said, it was a process in the making. Just one bad thing after another...Amy was bound to break at some point. I just wish I was there for her when it did."

"Me, too," there were a lot of regrets Peter had, and for a while he was sure he had made enough of them. But no, the world kept turning, and he had plenty to learn. Some things he just could not anticipate. He gazed at the pictures, scowling, "I just wish...wait."

Gwen had been leaning into him, but jerked back when he moved, so suddenly she almost fell over herself. She frowned, trying to see what he noticed, asking, "What is it?"

"The pictures..." Peter said, raising a finger at one in particular. "I just noticed."

"What?" Gwen stood beside him, gazing at each one in turn. "There's nothing wrong with them."

"No...but remember that time in elementary school when we had Bring Your Kid to Work Day?" Peter asked, the beginnings of a Eureka moment hitting him. His heart pounded in his chest, his feet twitching with excitement at the discovery. "Amy was one of the few kids that got to stay in school, because she had nowhere else to go."

"Yeah, she did. Her mom worked at the deli." Gwen threw Peter a look like she thought he might be losing it, too. "Peter, are you feeling all right?"

"Yes, yes, I'm fine!" Peter snapped, a little irritated that Gwen was going along with him. For the first time, he might be on to something, and she doubted him? Not much for a vote of confidence. "But not at the time. Aunt Jackie was between jobs...I remember because she had to borrow Uncle Ben's car because she couldn't afford the gas. Not that I understood that at the time, but still."

"I still don't know where you're going with this."

"Her dad! Don't you see?" Peter ran a hand through his hair, now jumping up and down with excitement. At Gwen's uncomprehending look, he swept a hand over all the pictures on the wall. "The one person who's not here? See, there's Aunt May, Uncle Ben, Aunt Jackie and Amy and me...even Mom and Dad...and our grandparents! But not _Amy's_ dad. Don't you see? Amy didn't have another place to go because she didn't have a dad...she cried when some bully teased her about it. And now I remember, when Dr. Winters asked about her parents, Amy wasn't happy – she always changes the subject when he comes up...but you get it now, don't you?"

"Um, her mom didn't keep any pictures of Amy's dad and that he's a dead-beat no show?" Gwen threw out, shrugging.

"No! Well, okay, yes, but no!" Peter shook his head, trying to clear it. He was only confusing himself by thinking about this too hard. It was so simple! He should've known. "I don't know why, but I guess Aunt Jackie never really talked about him, and maybe Amy's been obsessing about her dad because he's the one question in her entire life that's never been answered. Dr. Kindell said she might find something to focus on, and this might be it!"

"But how does the circus have to do with this? The box of secrets?"

Peter deflated at her question, realizing Gwen did have a point. He hadn't quite thought it through like that. Granted, Amy wasn't giving exact signs that this might be what she was obsessing over. "Okay, good point. I'm not sure how any of that fits in. Maybe, I don't know, her mom was hiding something from Amy. I mean, it happens sometimes. Maybe that's what the so-called box of secrets was about."

Gwen sighed, pursing her lips. "Well, I guess it's better than nothing. Would be a lot more helpful if it actually _existed_, and I could _find_ it."

They stood there in silence, taking in the information, trying to find the missing link between the evidence and the theory. Peter was disappointed he was coming up with nothing. If only he knew what was _in_ that box...

A soft tune started to play. Gwen and Peter looked at each other, surprised, then looked around for the source of it. The alarm hadn't gone off, no radio or TV was playing. Gwen even checked the windows, to see if it was coming from another room or apartment. But it seemed centered within the room, coming from the bed...

"It's Amy!" Peter exclaimed when he approached her. "She's humming a song."

Indeed, but it was so soft he could barely tell what it was. It didn't sound like anything he was familiar with. Yet it was jaunty, fun, something out of place in this rather grim situation. It sounded strange yet familiar at the same time.

"Hm," Peter drew away from Amy, wishing that maybe there had been lyrics or something able to recognize the song better. "Maybe she heard it on the radio or something."

He was about to leave when Gwen held up her hand, "Wait! I think I know what she's humming."

"Seriously? I've never heard it before."

"Yeah, neither have I, but I know where it comes from!" Gwen was smiling at him, glee from a discovery she had yet to share. "Just take a second. Really _think_ about where you might hear this song."

"Come on, won't you just _tell_ me...?"

"Hey, you kept jumping to conclusions without telling me how _you_ got to them." She protested, scowling at him. Then she pointed at Amy and commanded, "Now, listen!"

"Ugh, fine." And Peter listened. And listened. But it didn't stand out to him. The song didn't sound anything fancy like a national anthem or pop single. He shrugged, giving up. "I don't get it. It just sounds like something you'd hear at Coney Island."

Gwen didn't look disappointed at all by this conclusion. She pointed at him, exclaiming, "Exactly! Don't you get it?"

"But Coney Island is just a dumb cir..." Peter was about to complain, then stopped midsentence. His eyes went wide and he stared at Gwen before going, "_Ohhh_..."

But after a moment he said: "But that still doesn't explain how her dad might be related to a circus."

Gwen made a face, her own discovery revealed useless as well. "I know. I'm starting to think maybe it's just something she heard when something bad happened, and it's just stuck in her head. I don't really know what to do now, unless I can somehow find that stupid box. It probably doesn't even exist."

Peter was afraid that she was right, and everything that would imply.

They both left. As Peter closed the door to the apartment, he saw a flicker of movement in the shadows. Wherever Zorro was, he'd keep an eye on her.

With so many things to think about, it wasn't all that surprising that Peter often found himself bumping into things and forgetting his current task at hand. Sleep had been difficult, constantly phasing in and out of sleep. He couldn't remember the last time he got a full night of rest. Then, when trying to cook Thanksgiving dinner turned out to be a disaster (not even the yams could be saved), Peter realized he was totally going to be late in picking up Aunt May. Since the only way to beat the midday traffic was webslinging, Peter decided to switch into his costume to make for easier transportation.

However, as Peter was getting his shoes from under his desk, he came across the vial of gene-cleanser. A relic from his fight with the Lizard, Peter had completely forgotten he had hidden it under his desk for safe keeping.

It had solved Dr. Connors little issue with reptilian DNA. It would probably get rid of Peter's abilities as well, turn him back into a regular teenage kid. He wouldn't have to worry about being Spider-Man anymore, he wouldn't have to worry about all the responsibility that entailed.

_Sure, Spidey saved a lot of lives, but is that why I do it_? Peter wasn't sure. Next to Falcon, he was sure he was fighting for the greater good of the city, not simply to save one person's life and end it there. But Falcon never liked his attitude – he always joked around, had fun with being Spider-Man. It was something Peter enjoyed, allowing him to be somebody he always wanted to be. _Or am I in it for the thrill_? _The escape_?

No. He wanted to do more than that.

What about Amy? Peter couldn't take the gene-cleanser now. Getting rid of Spider-Man wouldn't solve her problems. They might make it worse, because then Peter would just be a puny human at the all-powerful whims of a psychotic telekinetic girl. He wouldn't stand a chance against Falcon, crazy or not, without his powers.

Maybe Amy needed it. At the very least, the gene-cleanser would remove her powers, keep her from completely losing control. She may not like it, but it would be for the best. She shouldn't have powers she couldn't control, especially ones given by a serum reputed to be unreliable and deadly. How many others had survived the Gray Matter? None. She was more Hulk than Captain America.

Still, the decision didn't feel right to Peter. Like it wasn't his to make. Sure, it may not be what Amy wanted, but what if she _needed _it, what if taking away her powers was the key to solving the rest of her problems? Peter could have her back to normal before Aunt May even left the hospital.

Peter didn't get a chance to decide before he was suddenly yanked out his bedroom window.


	31. Chapter 31: Catharsis

**This chapter is surprisingly long although its mostly dialogue. Well, it does what I wanted and Falcon gets what she needs. Two more chapters to go, people! Yay!**

**Anyways, hope you enjoy :)**

**All reviews are appreciated.**

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Chapter Thirty-One

Catharsis

I didn't want to be in this room anymore. It was too small. Too easy to destroy.

I couldn't recall anything after accepting the symbiote. It was all just a blur of anger and red and pain –Spider-Man's voice. And Peter's voice. They melted together, two different people. I couldn't understand why they sounded so much alike.

Sometimes I could almost remember. Like the memory was just out of my reach. I could taste it, feel it, but couldn't draw it in. It frustrated me to no end. It was right _there_. Why couldn't I get it?

The darkness felt the safest. It was the only place I could feel in control, could keep myself together. I didn't know if I had hurt anyone, only aware of the fact that I had done something bad, something I couldn't take back. The shadows were warm and comforting, and sometimes they whispered to me, soft assurances and promises. I didn't always understand them, but they made me feel better anyways.

Sometimes I wandered around. Sometimes I broke things, even though I didn't mean to. Everything was just so...fragile under my touch. My radar blinked in and out, and one time I thought I sensed something in the wall. It shouldn't have been there, so I went to take it out. I didn't mean to make the hole so big.

I couldn't remember what I found. I remembered looking in, reaching down and pulling out an old, dusty shoe box. But it didn't hold shoes – it held people. My mother. A boy. A circus. The music played when I found the box and it wouldn't go away until I gave it to the shadows, who promised to keep it safe.

The shadows didn't say where they put the box, so I couldn't tell Gwen where it was when she showed up. I didn't know when or for how long – she wasn't supposed to be here, she wasn't supposed to see me. I could break her, just like the rest of the apartment, and I didn't want that to happen.

I thought she was angry at me. That was the last memory I had of her. But now she didn't seem to be. Now she looked worried and scared, and whenever I saw that look on her face, it made me scared, too. I wanted her to go away, but whenever I tried to say something, it was like my tongue didn't want to move. The music came back when they did, and no matter how hard I tried, it wouldn't go away.

The shadows did not comfort me then. They had vanished upon arrival of the visitors. I did not blame him; I didn't want them here, either. I knew I was being watched, being followed. Everything in my life was by design – free will was nonexistent. I was at the whims of some greater power hoping to use me for their own gains. I tried to escape that gaze, that situation that woman had placed me in, but no exits made themselves apparent. I was a bird trapped in a cage, beating against the walls and trying to find a way out.

My head felt so bare, so vulnerable. Sometimes I would search out, completely blind, for that cover, the black mask that remained my only protection against the watching eyes. They didn't know me, didn't really know me, so long as my face remained hidden.

At night, when Peter and Gwen had gone, the shadows returned. They whispered to me, promising to make everything better. They had an old acquaintance that could help. At first, I didn't want to go. I didn't feel safe walking out of there, feeling as though any moment I could lose control and do something bad. But the shadows convinced me that if I went, I wouldn't have to be afraid anymore.

I had to change back into my suit. It felt strange, moving on my own, feeling almost in control again. I could remember again, certain things that weren't as easy before. The symbiote – the Voice. It was gone now, leaving a hollow space behind. I wanted to fill it with something, but I didn't know what. I wanted the symbiote back. I wanted to feel whole again.

The shadows gave me my helmet back. Putting it on, I felt stronger, safer. It was enough to get me out of the window and into the sky.

The cold wind cut straight through to my bones. It was a shock and for a second I fell, but regained my senses and caught another gust of wind. The city was dark and surprisingly quiet below me. The shadow led the way, coaxing me nearer when doubt returned. I trusted that smile, the offered hand. He knew I could do it. He knew I could be better.

I wanted to believe it, too.

I remembered the shadows had a name. I had known that for a while, but could never recall exactly what it was. But I knew him. I could trust him.

A part of me, somewhere deep inside my head told me not to put faith in the shadows. That this was too selfless for him, for someone so used to working for himself. How did any of this benefit him? Why did he want to help me? He had nothing to owe, didn't he? I couldn't remember what had happened between us. Flashes of light, cold rain, screaming. Images flashed in front of my eyes that made no sense. They probably weren't good, as far as I could tell.

Even as we landed, that doubt did not go away. "Why should I trust you?" I asked, finally gaining some control over my tongue. It didn't feel lame as usual. Perhaps the fresh air had cleared some of the fog between me and my senses. "Why should I believe in you, or the person inside?"

He had led me to a warehouse in the shipping district. The walls were made of sheet metal, rusted and painted in colorful, unintelligible graffiti. The windows were all broken and there seemed to be only one light working inside. More images flashed in front of my eyes, a dark room made of metal, two windows and two prisoners. A gun at my back. "How do I know this isn't another trap?"

The shadow looked at me, something flickering his eyes. Regret? Hope? I couldn't tell. He sighed, saying "I...you just have trust me, Falcon. I helped him once, and now he's repaying the favor. But we don't have all night. He can't stay here forever. He'll move on soon."

"Who is he?"

But the shadow just shook his head. "Sorry...I can't tell you. But, please, just trust me on this. He – this guy, he knows what you've been through. He can help."

I seriously doubted anyone understood just what it was like to be inside my head. But right now I had no reason to be picky, no choice. I needed the help, and if this mysterious man could help me, then so be it.

I relented, taking the shadow's hand. He smiled and led me inside, saying more to himself than anyone else: "At least you're starting to sound lucid now..."

I didn't know what that meant. The past few days have been such a blur, everything I did just sort of melded together into a confusing mash of colors and sounds. Maybe this was just a lapse where I briefly returned to some semblance of normal – right before falling off the deep end and losing it entirely.

Inside was dark and my radar told me nothing. It had since disappeared since the box of secrets event, and once more I wished I knew where it had gone. The shadows did not follow me inside.

I stepped into the circle of light in the center of the room. I looked around – there was nothing but dirt and darkness around me. I couldn't even see if there were crates or boxes in here. The place felt entirely empty. I was about to leave when I heard something move in front of me. I already felt a little dizzy from being up for so long, and I didn't want to stay here if it turned out to be some joke. "Hello? Is someone there?"

Usually, in the movies, the character who asks this doesn't get an answer. I was surprised when, for once, it actually happened.

"Hm, you're smaller than I expected," said a voice, soft and male. He sounded contemplative, almost amused. I tried to pick him out in the darkness but couldn't see anything. "Did you really tear apart a whole warehouse with just a single scream?"

I didn't like the question. It brought back bad memories, made me feel nauseous. I tried to put on a brave face, but my voice wavered as I said, "Y-yeah, so what?"

"Oh, nothing," the man said, sounding not at all daunted by my hostility. In fact, he seemed almost flippant when he said, "It's just – when I think of someone capable of leveling an entire city block, I think of a monster. Instead... I see a small girl."

I clenched my fists, not knowing whether to be angry or scared. Angry, because the man was totally underestimating me. Scared, because I was so much stronger than I looked, that I could lose control and become the monster he thought of. "Well, looks can be deceiving. I _am_ a monster. I just don't think I can hide it for much longer."

"I don't think you really believe that." The man said.

"What?"

"I don't think you really believe you're a monster," he elaborated. The man's voice echoed throughout the expanse, making it almost impossible to locate by hearing alone. I thought I saw a something flicker at the edge of the circle of light, perhaps a shoe, but it was gone in an instant. "You have a lot problems, granted, but you're not a monster."

"Problems?" I almost snorted, and something in my head cleared a little. This talk was making me think, making me frustrated with proving him wrong. It was like reading an open-ended question on a test, where no answer you gave could be the right one. And then you had to prove the one you chose was right anyways. "My problems will get others killed."

"Ah, key word there, _will_," I imagined the voice shaking his hand, finger in the air. I heard the soft scratches of someone walking across the ground, back and forth. Pacing. Thinking. "But have you, yet?"

"N-no," I wasn't sure where he was going with this. I had lost control of my powers too many times, I wasn't even sure if anyone _hadn't_ got hurt. "Well, at least I don't think so. And sometimes people get hurt. But I'm just lucky it's not worse."

"Luck, is that what you want to call it?" he asked. I swear, he was behind me now. I looked around, but was only met with more darkness. I felt like a blind rat being circled by vultures. The voice chuckled, "You're giving the universe a little too much credit, Falcon."

What the hell did that mean?

But he wasn't done talking yet. "I don't think it's luck keeping innocent people from harm. Tell me, what do you feel when you think you're about to lose control?"

"Fear," was my immediate reply. "I'm scared that if I lose control, I won't ever get it back."

"And has that happened?"

It was such a dumb question. I shook my head, getting tired of this Q&A session. I reminded me too much of Dr. Kindell, and what good did he do? He probably just made me crazier than I already was. "No, but what does it matter? It's already happened so many times. And what makes you think you know what's going on? Who made you the expert? Why should I even trust you? I don't even know what you look like."

"You can't see my face because this is me protecting you," the man said, as calmly as one did when dealing with an unruly, impatient child. I was both annoyed and impressed – it must take a lot to really faze this guy. "I have acquired quite a few enemies over the past couple years, and it would be best if they didn't know you knew who I was. They're very persistent."

"And how did you make those enemies?" It felt good to be asking some questions of my own.

"I guess you could say I was in a situation a lot like yours," the man replied. His voice appeared on my right and I jumped in surprise. He went on as if he didn't notice, "I had a power I couldn't control, couldn't keep in check, and whenever it broke free, bad things happened. People got hurt; someone very close to me nearly died. It was enough for them to see me as a monster and come after me. And I ran, because I knew that if they tried to kill me...well, I would be unstoppable. There have been a few confrontations, but I've stayed off the grid so far. You're lucky I happened to be staying in this city for a couple days. But if you don't want my help, I have no problem just leaving right –"

"No!" I said, holding up my hands before he could finish that sentence. At first I thought he was just like every other psychologist: someone who's read the books and studied the symptoms, but didn't actually have any experience with it themselves. None of them knew what I was going through. But this man was different – he didn't have to ask me all the thoughts and feelings that went through my head. He'd already been there. "Please, don't go. I know I can be a jerk sometimes, but I'm just afraid that –"

"Your emotions might get in the way?" he finished my sentence. I nodded my head and he said, "So you keep a cold exterior, hoping that if you just kept them out of the way, they wouldn't bother you? But, I bet, in reality, you just bottled up your emotions, kept them inside because you didn't know what to do with them. Maybe you didn't even realize you were doing it. And when you finally let go, they manifest in these meltdowns where all your emotions are so strong you can't keep them down anymore. It's scary, I know, I tried that for months before realizing it was only making the problem worse."

"Well, then, what did you do?" I asked, desperate for an answer. If he had already been through this, then he had come out to the other side. He was better now, which meant I could be, too. Why didn't he just tell me and send me on my way? "How do I do it?"  
But instead, the man asked, "Why do you wear that helmet?"

"What?" I didn't expect him to avoid the question. Why did he suddenly change the subject. _This must be some sort of test_, I thought to myself. I played along; maybe he'd tell me once I gave him what he wanted. "To protect my identity, like a mask. Same way as you hiding in the darkness."

"No, tell me why you _really_ wear it," he said.

"I don't understand," Why the hell else would I wear it? It wasn't cosmetic. It was extra protection against attacks and the heavy wind when flying. It gave me helmet hair and sometimes made my face really hot. It compromised my peripheral vision, which hadn't really bothered me until I lost my radar. "It's just a mask. I don't want people seeing my face."

"Why? Are you afraid that instead of seeing this cold, dark superhuman who watches from above," the man said, his voice going around me, voice bouncing off the walls and ceiling in a dizzying manner. "They'll instead see a scared little girl who just wants her old life back? They wouldn't be as afraid of you anymore, would they?"

My face wasn't exactly intimidating, so no. "I guess not. But that still isn't –"

"Tell me, Falcon, why _do_ you fight crime?" he asked, not waiting for me to defend my helmet or mask or whatever. I was starting to get annoyed that he hadn't gotten to the part where I could solve my problems. Why was he stretching this out? "Some duty to the city? Do you feel responsible for what happens here?"

"I-I don't know. Not really..."

"So, you're Falcon for some other reason. Are you looking for something? Someone?" He sounded almost accusatory, like whatever my motivation was, it wasn't good enough compared to selfless sacrifice to the city.

I grit my teeth and spat, "Yeah, so what if I am? So what if I'm in this for myself? Does that make me as bad as the guys I'm throwing in jail?"

"Hey, I'm not saying you're being a bad hero or anything," the man said, backing off instantly. I could already feel a small wind pick up and rolled my shoulders, trying to get a handle on myself. "Just because you have powers doesn't mean you're forced into helping everyone who needs it. I'm just saying...maybe you're not seeing the bigger picture. Once you get what you want, will you stay Falcon? Or will you go back to your old life as if it never happened?"

"Probably the last one. This is way too much trouble than its worth."

"Protecting the city isn't worth it?" the man asked, sounding surprised. "Bring down the crime rate isn't worth it? Letting the White Rose win is worth it?"

"Well, when you say it like _that_ –" I started to say, feeling a little guilty. But the man interrupted me again.

"Surely you're not the only person who's been hurt by the White Rose?" the man asked, giving me a hard look I couldn't see in the dark. I could practically see him holding his arms behind his back, like he was waiting for me to defend my position with a really good point. "Surely you're not the only person in this city that's suffered because someone stronger and tougher than them thought they could just do what they wanted? Why is it fair that you can have your justice, but none of them?"

"Who said anything about justice? It's not like the police don't exist."

"But how effective are the police if the White Rose is still out there?" the man retorted just as quickly, leaving me frustrated once more. There was so much I wanted to say, but I realized I couldn't think of any valid reasoning to defend myself. "Sure, they might get one or two, but the organization, as large as it is, is still out there. I bet, right now, somewhere in New York City is someone suffering because of something the White Rose did. Why aren't you defending them right now? Why are you letting the White Rose get away with everything else they've done?"

"Is it because you're the only one strong enough to stand up to them?" he asked just as I opened my mouth to respond. "That because you had the audacity to show them who they're messing with, you don't have to bother with anyone else? That they're on their own as far as you're concerned? How would you feel if you were a woman who watched her husband die because of them, knowing that someone like you was out there, ready to fight them, but not for _you _or anyone else. What that woman wouldn't do if she were in your position right now. Do you think that's fair?"

"N-no..." I knew it was more complex than that. This wasn't so simple an answer. I wasn't just _wrong_, I was justified, too. I...I _was_, okay? I knew I was. "But life isn't fair! How can they expect me to take on the White Rose, bring them all down for everything they've done? I'm only one person!"  
"True," he said, and for a second I thought I might have finally won the argument. "But you're also the only person strong enough to do it. How many other people can you name that has superpowers?"

"Well, there are a couple." I admitted. "But most of them are evil."

"And I'm sure they have their reasons, but we're not talking about them. They aren't the ones calling themselves heroes while only working for themselves."

"But still, even if I did help that woman," I said, realizing how stupid I was sounding arguing on a hypothetical position. "Even if I did fight for all those people who the White Rose hurt, what do I get in return? Knowing I'm on the right side? Is that supposed to make me feel better for all that I'd sacrificed?"

"No." he said. "But people can surprise you."

"Yeah, well, I don't like surprises," I said, crossing my arms and glaring at the dirt. I came here to find help, not get a bashing for all that I _haven't_ done. How was this supposed to make me better? "Now what the hell does this have to do anything with me? With my powers? This doesn't help me get back control. I can't help people even if I wanted to – I'll only get them hurt because I can't control it."

"We're getting there, have patience," the man said, almost laughing again. What did he think was so funny? I tried to imagine what this guy might look like. Tall and skinny? Short and robust? Just some average guy I might pass in the street? "When you leave this building, Falcon, you're going back into a world that will not forget you or the things you've done. If and when you decide to return to your normal life, your enemies – including the White Rose – will follow you. They will hunt you down and make sure you never show up again. Unless you stop them first. Just because you want to quit doesn't mean everyone is going to accept that. As much as you hate being Falcon, you've already made your choice. You can't step down now, or anytime in the near future. You have to finish what you've started."

"Is that it?" I demanded, finally catching on to what the man was getting at. I felt both angry and triumphant for figuring it out. "You want me to use my powers to end the White Rose – forever! You'll only tell me how to fix my powers if I promise to do that, right?"

"Very good, you're figuring it out," I could hear the man grinning through his voice.

That bastard. I couldn't believe it. How stupid I was for thinking it would be so easy, that he would just tell me what I needed to know and leave. Of course not, he had to make sure I didn't waste it, made sure I used my powers the same way Spider-Man did. "Why? You have powers, too, don't you? How come _you _aren't doing that?"

"Well, aside from the fact that neither identity I have is safe from my enemies," he replied, not at all daunted by the question I was so sure would have him stumped. "my other side is particularly...violent. You may not care about your reputation with the city, but that's because they don't actively hate you. Me...well, I'd be very much the monster they'd love to hate. I couldn't protect the city because they wouldn't want me to."

"Oh." I said after a small moment. The man sounded so anguished, so sad that I started to feel bad for him. I never really thought about what it was like to _want_ to be a hero, only for everyone to think you're the bad guy. "That's, um, pretty rough."

"You don't know me, but that's what I'm asking of you." The man said. "Do what I can't and protect this city. You may not think so, but some people actually do believe in you. You and that bug friend of yours may be the only two people this city can count on to save them."

It was a touching thought. Granted, the _Daily Bugle_ with its constant hero-bashing wasn't a lot of help, but I liked to think I had some fans somewhere in the city. "But what if I'm not strong enough? What if it just makes things worse?"

"Again, you're not giving yourself enough credit." The man said, chuckling. "I don't know what it is with you, Falcon, but you seem pretty determined to keep believing that all your efforts are a waste. I know it's a risk, but even someone like you can take it on. You just have to trust in yourself and your powers. You're not as bad as you think."

"Yeah?" I said, thinking this guy was pulling my leg. "Prove it."

"All right," the man took in a deep breath, and I realized that once again, I had underestimated him. This guy came prepared. I could never win. "May I reiterate, you have never actually killed anyone. Not when you tore down that warehouse, not in the APEX disaster, not when you were trapped underground. Every time you lost control, you held back. You may have had meltdowns, but where were they? In abandoned areas, far away from where most people usually wander. You only hurt your enemies, and even then, you didn't kill them either. What kept you from doing that, hm? Luck? Or your conscience?"

"It's not that simple –"

"Out of everything, no," I could imagine him shaking his head, thinking for a moment before he continued with a smirk, "But it's not a coincidence. Yes, these past few days have been hard. You've retreated into yourself, hidden away where you can't hurt anyone else. And what have you discovered, all by yourself?"

I thought of my mother, the boy, the circus. All in a picture, worn and faded and yellowed with age. I remembered holding it in my hand, giving it to Smoke. I remembered him telling me he would find out who that boy was, that it wasn't a coincidence that my mother hid this age-old picture and ended up missing years later. Gwen couldn't find because it wasn't even in the apartment anymore. I had forgotten that.

I also remembered how lonely I was, how I wanted to go back to school and talk to my friends again. I _missed_ school, a first in a long time. I wanted to see Aunt May, make sure she was all right, and talk to Peter. Oh, my god, Peter. I still had trouble recalling the night I lost the symbiote, but _that_ part I remembered. I remembered it to the finest detail.

My non-answer must've said plenty itself. The man went on, "I'm not saying what happened was good, but would you give it back? Would you give any of it back?"

"After what I've learned?" I had to think about it. Even though I weighed the pros and cons, and the cons just seemed to overshadow everything else, there was something about what I learned, what I've gained that felt impossible to forget. "No. I felt so...blind before. And now, I'm finally starting to get some answers. If I stop now, it'll stop happening."

"I'm glad you think so." The man said.

"But my powers, they're not..." I wasn't ready to accept that all this was in my head, that everything wrong with me was just my lack of confidence or something. I knew it wasn't. "They weren't...I mean, I'm not the only one who-who took the Gray Matter. It was a serum to make super soldiers. There were others like me, but they all went crazy...and they all died. How do I know I won't end up like them? What if what's making me crazy is the same thing that happened to them?"

"I've heard of that project, Uncle Sam, was it?" I was surprised he knew the name, knew what I was talking about. I was terrified that he would think I was some sort of freak experiment and abandon this entire thing on the spot, but it didn't happen. "But I suppose you didn't volunteer for the project like the others, did you?"

"Um, no."

"Well, then, I suppose that makes a difference." He replied, as if that solved the matter. How could it be that simple? The man must've sensed by disbelief, so he said, "I've read the reports, had access to all the details. I won't tell you how. But I know what I saw with the test subjects. They saw the powers – things like invisibility, super strength, mind reading – as toys to play with; they didn't take any of it seriously. In fact, none of them bothered to really learn about or control their powers, because they thought the scientists would keep them in check. I guess someone forgot to tell them just what kind of experiment they were in."

"But they aren't toys," I looked at my hands, things that could so easily crush a human skull if I so wished. I shuddered at the thought of a bunch of idiots with the same power as me, even greater, and not thinking they would cause any trouble. "How could they have been so stupid?"

"I don't know, but I don't think its a coincidence that their powers eventually got the better of them. Then, when the scientists offered no answers, they went off the deep end." The man said. "I imagine it was a lot someone telling them they had brain cancer. They just couldn't handle the baggage and crumpled underneath."

"So...it was all in their heads?" that story still didn't make me feel better. My mind was a mess enough – knowing it could kill me was not a comforting thought. "They let themselves die, just like that?"

"The Gray Matter, as you call it, works in a far more complex way than you think." He told me, voice slow and halting as though to calm me. I guess the rise in my voice hadn't gone unnoticed and he sensed I might panic again. "Yes, it lies very much in your head, and everything you do with them depends on how much you focus. And it does affect your mind and your emotions, no matter how much value you put in them, affect your abilities as well. You figured out how to control it all on your own, which I congratulate you for. Very few of the test subjects even made it that far, and certainly not with an understanding of how their emotions played into it. When they watched themselves go out of control, they felt helpless, and in turn their powers continued to fall into disarray. It's a vicious cycle, you see. None of them could recover from the meltdowns."

"And you're saying I'm different," I said, trying to figure out how I came in. I wasn't a test subject, I had no idea what those crazy scientists told those guinea pigs about the Gray Matter. "Because I didn't put my trust in someone else to take care of it. I...I trusted myself."

"Now you're getting it," I heard that smile again. I started to smile myself. "I don't know what you've been through, and I'm not going to ask, but it must've been very hard for you to lose track of your emotions to the point you started to lose control. All those pent up emotions came to a breaking point, like those of the test subjects, and you fell into a downward spiral. You've lasted much longer than any of them have."

"So what are you saying I should do? Keep track of my emotions?" It sounded so vague, so impossible that I started to get frustrated and angry again. "That doesn't help me! I don't know how to do that. I don't think I was ever doing that. I was just...I was just..."

"Do you meditate at all?" he asked suddenly.

"Uh, no," I said, shaking my head. Meditating? Was he serious? "Isn't that what monks do? I don't have time for that."

"_Yes_," by the sound of it, the man didn't seem pleased with the scathing way I said that. I felt a little embarrassed but I wanted him to make his point clearer. "But apparently you're a doer, not a thinker, right? You don't hesitate much before going into a fight."

"Not really," I tried to think of the last time I tried to negotiate my way out of a fight with a couple of thieving goons. None popped up. The only time I tried talking was if there was a gun to my back or someone was about to do something stupid. "But what does that have to do with meditating?"

"Being a doer and not a thinker, I guess you don't spend a lot of time thinking over your feelings, thinking of other possible outcomes other than a fight in any given situation." The man guessed. "Am I right? If so, meditating would help. I know, it sounds stupid, but if you want to know my secret, that would be it. Meditating isn't about suppressing your feelings or guilting yourself over the things you could've done – it's about understanding what you did and why you did it, and how you can change that in the future. Above all, it's about reflecting. Do you understand?"

This was starting to sound like one of those pep talks you here on TV, with the host telling the audience all the myriad of ways they can make themselves feel better, how to become a better, more full-filled person. I didn't ever think of myself as a sucker for those shows, but I felt myself hanging onto every word this man said. "Y-yeah, I think so."

"Your emotions don't make you weak, not even if they make you feel helpless," the man said just as I was about to say something along those lines. Jeez, all my emotions had ever done for me was screw things up, so this was pretty new. "They make you human and alive. Everyone feels what you have felt at some time in their lives. I bet even Spider-Man has felt intense guilt at some point. I imagine he has a reason to be out there, too. Bottom line, No one wants to be a robot."

I wanted to point out the irony in that, particularly in regards to Dr. Grace, but decided now wouldn't be the best time to try jokes. "Yeah, it's probably not a pleasant experience."

He snorted. "No, I don't think so."

There was a stretch of silence. I looked around, expecting him to appear again, but saw nothing. I could see sunlight falling in through the slats in the ceiling. How long had I been here? What time was it? Would Peter be wondering where I was at this moment? "Um, hello?"

"Sorry," his voice appeared again, somewhere behind me. The tone in the man's voice had changed, something urgent and nervous. "But it appears I'll be making an early leave today. Hopefully, you don't need to be taught anything else before I go."

"No, I think I got it all," I felt better now, at least. Although my radar was back, I didn't feel as scared anymore. Still, there was one question buzzing around in my mind like an angry bee. "Wait, please! Can you...I mean, who are you? What's your name?"

"Sorry, need-to-know only." His tone was strict, firm, and unyielding. He was as touchy about his identity as I was with mine.

"Oh, please!" I didn't know why I was bugging him about it, but I really wanted to know. I mean, how many other people in the world were like me? How did he know so much about the Uncle Sam project? "Just...I want to know who helped me. Please?"

There came a sigh, like a man being bothered by a persistent child. Well, I had my ways. Eventually, he said, "Like I said, I have enemies, and they're in pretty high places. Knowing me is a death sentence. But I guess..."

"Yeah?" I said, on my toes waiting for an answer.

There came a huff of breath, like a smirk. "You can call me Bruce."

"Bruce," I repeated, smiling with glee. Yes, he told me! Granted, it was a first name, probably not even his real one, but still a name! I win! "I like it."

"The feelings mutual," he chuckled, and I heard footsteps walking away from me. I wanted to follow him, but I guess being on the run meant he was a loner. And I had other stuff to take care of. "I suggest finding that bug friend of yours. He's going to be in some deep trouble, if he isn't all ready, and he'll need all the help he can get."

And like that, Bruce was gone.

When I left that warehouse, bright sunlight hit me square in the eye. The helmet, thankfully, blocked the worst of the glare and I looked around. Quiet street, almost no one around. It was surprisingly empty, even for New York City. Where could they have all gone?

That's when I remembered.

Today's Thanksgiving. There would be a parade. There would be marching bands and giant balloons. Most of Midtown High would be there. Gwen would be there.

Odds were, so would Spider-Man.


	32. Chapter 32: Crisis

**One more chapter to go! Granted, this one ties everything up into a neat little bow, but the next is kind of an epilogue/teaser for a possible sequel. Hope you enjoy!**

**All reviews are appreciated :)**

* * *

**Chapter Thirty Two**

**Crisis**

Falcon didn't like operating without her radar. It was hard enough flying with limited vision and muffled hearing, but trying to locate Spider-Man? That guy moved faster than a cheetah on caffeine.

She made it to the parade quickly enough. Thankfully, it wasn't as late as Falcon thought it was. Only ten minutes after 9 AM. Certainly, Falcon had plenty of time to sort things out. Besides, how much trouble can a Webhead like Spider-Man get in on a holiday? She didn't see any supervillains running around, popping giant balloons or robbing closed banks. It seemed almost picturesque, actually. She flew over the giant mustang balloon for Midtown, and the marching band nearby. She spotted several people she recognized.

Falcon landed on a roof overlooking the street. The balloons and floats were already moving, just beginning their progression through the streets. She saw a deflated gorilla balloon being gathered up by workers in white. She planted two fists on her hips, thinking. Falcon really wanted to talk to Gwen, but there was no way she could butt in during the middle of the parade. Especially not in her costume. That would just have to wait until later.

Now, where was that arachnid? She had a bone to pick with him, too –

"Watch out!"

Now, had Falcon's radar been operating at the time, she would've sensed the 140 pounds of red-and-blue coming at her from the right, going at a speed detrimental for anyone who wanted to continue living.

Spider-Man hit Falcon at a velocity unhealthy for the both of them.

They crashed through a water tower, which definitely did not make either of them feel better. Landing in a heap on the other side, soaking wet, Spider-Man was the first to realize he had not, in fact, hurt a civilian, but rather Falcon, who was less insane than usual. "Falcon! What are you doing here? It's not safe –"

She pushed him away before his shouting could give her a headache. Spider-Man sounded more panicked than his usual annoying witty self, so Falcon had to assume this was as bad as he was making it out to be. "Look, don't worry about me, I'm fine! Or sorta fine, I don't know! But Smoke helped me out, okay? And a friend said you needed help."

"Smoke? Who the heck is Smoke?" Spider-Man said, getting up and staring at Falcon as though she belonged in a strait jacket. Then he smacked his head and laughed, "Oh, you mean Zorro!"

"Seriously, Zorro? That's the best you could come up with?" Falcon scowled, just as something big and black soared over their heads and landed on the other side of the building, making the roof shake. She jabbed a finger at him, "When this is over, we're going to have a discussion about proper nicknames from movies!"

"Get down!" Spider-Man slammed his shoulder into Falcon just as a black ball of _something_ was lobbed at them, taking out the rest of the broken water tower.

"Oh, look who came to play!" came a voice. Or rather, several voices from one body. Falcon looked up and froze in horror. It looked like a Spider-Man in his black suit, if this other Spider-Man had taken too much steroids, grew some huge, sharp chompers and a wicked long tongue. And for some reason, that voice sounded familiar... "The little birdie finally broke out of her cage! I wonder how long it'll take to _rip off her wings!_"

"Oh my god what is that," It wasn't even a question. Falcon scrambled back on her elbows, panic making her heart smack against her chest so hard it hurt. Just the _sight_ of that-that-that _thing _had her terrified.

"That's Venom," Spider-Man stepped between her and the creature, clenching his fists and giving him a glare that dared to cross the line. "He's got some issues. Leave her out of this, Venom, this is just between you and me!"

Venom laughed at Spider-Man's display of bravery. "Oh, look at little Petey! Always so selfless, always sacrificing for his friends! But would they think the same? What has he ever done for you, Amy?"

"Um, I think this very much has to do with me," Falcon could barely whisper, shaking as she got back to her feet. She felt unsteady again, off balance. She couldn't keep her hands still. Oh, god, was she going to have another meltdown? Surely, not so soon after she finally had a way to stop them! "Spidey, _who is that_?"

"You don't recognize me?" Venom asked before Spider-Man could say a word. He bent his head back, belting out a laugh that only sent shivers down her spine. He smiled a grisly smile, "I thought you knew me better than that. After all, I _gave_ you that helmet."

Falcon gasped, a hand flying to her head. _No way..._

Toxin got what she wanted. Eddie finally learned the truth.

"Let's just stay a lot happened while you were gone," Spider-Man muttered, inching backwards now. Then, to her absolute surprise, he got down on his knees and offered up his hands. "I give up. I was wrong...I-I want you back."

"WHAT?" Falcon shouted at the same time Venom started to laugh. She stared at Spider-Man, then Venom, then back to Spider-Man again. Had he completely lost it? "Spider-Man, you can't!"

"Sorry, Spidey, but it's found a better partner in me," Venom shook its head, approaching Spider-Man as though he were going to continue the fight.

Spider-Man looked up, surprised. "Me? Not us?"

"What?" Venom didn't seem to realize what he said until it was too late. The symbiote started to writhe, dripping off its host and crawling towards Spider-Man's outstretched arms. Falcon watched in horror as Eddie Brock's face appeared, panicking and shouting, "No! Don't listen to him!" Don't leave me! Don't leave me..."

As the symbiote left Eddie's body entirely, he wavered on his feet, his eyes rolling into the back of his head. As the symbiote flew onto Spider-Man, Eddie collapsed in a heap. Falcon ran over, briefly distracted by her shock to forget about Spider-Man for a moment. At first she wasn't sure what to do, in a brief moment of panic, then regained her senses and checked for a pulse. She was afraid that the symbiote might have left Eddie too weak, but he was still breathing. Just unconscious. Falcon let out a sigh of relief.

So that's how he knew her name. The symbiote must've told Eddie everything it learned from its experience with her, which obviously included her civilian life. Did that mean he knew that she was crushing on him? Or..._had _crushed on him?

Falcon shuddered at the thought.

Then she turned back to look at Spider-Man. He was still covered in the black suit, but was completely silent. Slowly, she stood up, raising her hands in case a psycho Bughead decided to attack her. "Spidey? You all right...?"

There suddenly came a screech, making Falcon jump back. Then the black suit practically threw itself off of Spider-Man, whining and squirming on the roof. Spider-Man jerked back to life, gasping. That was when she noticed the bag in his hand. He was just about to reach for the symbiote when it suddenly jumped in the opposite direction.

Falcon scrambled back, falling on her elbows as the symbiote came straight at her. She raised her arms to stop it – but her telekinesis had no effect. She was absolutely defenseless when the symbiote landed on top of her.

"No!"

_You are mine!_

Falcon tried to fight it, but the symbiote covered her instantly. She didn't want it, she didn't need it – yet its presence filled that void in the back of her head, the emptiness she couldn't fill. The feeling...was _bliss_.

"Falcon, you have to fight it!"

But she didn't know how. The symbiote welcomed her – and it _hated_ Spider-Man. Why should she listen to him? What had he ever done for her?

She should unleash her power, all of it, on Spider-Man. Let it rip him to pieces!

_No!_ Falcon jerked back, realizing she had thrown a fist at Spider-Man. The symbiote hadn't let it go unaffected – Spider-Man was blasted back by an invisible force. _Not him. It's Peter! He helped me!_

She remembered him making sure she was all right after her meltdown. Kept her safe in the abandoned apartment. Peter was there. So was Gwen. They were her friends.

_We are stronger!_ The symbiote urged, throwing her body back at Spider-Man, trying to find any anger left within Falcon, any fear she had felt somewhere deep within. But the only fear she felt was for the symbiote, and an unwillingness to do whatever it wanted. The symbiote tried to kick Spider-Man, but because Falcon tried to hold back, it was slow and Spider-Man caught her foot.

He flipped her over and pushed her back, staying on the defensive. "Come on, Falcon, you're better than the symbiote! All it wants to do is hurt everyone you love!"

_I know that_! Falcon wanted to snap, but the symbiote wouldn't give over control of her mouth. The symbiote wanted her to get back up, but she kept it scrambling on the ground. No! She clutched at her head, trying to scream: _Get out!_

_No,_ the symbiote swirled around her. It kept trying to tempt her, to convince her that this was the right decision to stay. But Falcon wasn't listening anymore. It tried to attack her mind, sending shooting jolts of pain down her back. _We shall kill Spider-Man. We will make him pay for betraying us! You will be ours! We are Toxin!_

Falcon could feel it building up in her chest. She could feel the cries coming out of her throat, incoherent and unintelligible. But through the pain Falcon saw Spider-Man stumbling back. Good, because she didn't want him to be in her range of destruction.

The symbiote realized what she was going to do, realized that in a few seconds she wasn't going to stop it. _Nothing you can do can get rid of us! We are greater than your powers alone! Your emotions are so delicious...why should we ever leave...?_

_I said,_ Falcon flipped over on her back, arms hugging her chest. "GET OUT!"

Her arms flew back from the force that erupted from within. The symbiote screamed as it was suddenly torn off its host's body, ripped apart by the sudden sharp winds of the vortex whirling around Falcon's body. Dust and gravel flew into the air, knocking off any remaining parts from her skin.

Spider-Man was thrown back. He cried out, covering his face as debris was whipped into the air. A tornado had formed around Falcon's suspended body, arms outstretched and controlling the seemingly unstoppable disaster.

Falcon was in total control. She kept the winds in a firm sphere around her body, keeping it from going too far and causing collateral damage. Eddie was safe from harm at the other end of the building. At the very edge of the vortex was Spider-Man, cowering behind some metal vents as the winds started to lessen. The symbiote remained on the ground, pulling itself together through the torrential gale.

Instead of feeling scared or horrified, Falcon felt...calm. Peaceful. Completely relaxed. Well, alert and tensed, but knowing exactly what she was doing. This vortex wouldn't do anything she didn't want it to do. She almost wanted to laugh with relief. Bruce had been right!

Falcon was in a state of tranquility, her emotions strong – but not uncontrollable. And her telekinesis responded accordingly. Never before had this been so easy for her to control.

Slowly, Falcon descended back towards the ground. The winds calmed around her before disappearing completely, and she landed delicately on her feet. She looked around, saw Spider-Man, and waved him over. She was panting, the effort of containing that power leaving her exhausted. "It's...it's all right, Spider-Man. You can...come out now. It's safe..."

"Holy tolitos!" Spider-Man looked manic, shaken. He pointed at her, at little unsteady on his feet. "What was _that_? I thought I was going to die!"

"Don't be such a drama king," she said, walking over and picking up the fallen bag. She kneaded the fabric with her fingers, taking a moment to think to herself. "I was completely in control. You weren't going to get hurt."

"How did you do that?" Spider-Man asked when she tossed him the bag. He trapped the symbiote inside once it had gathered itself together from its rather traumatic removal from Falcon's body. "I mean, I thought you...I didn't think you could...I mean, uh..."

"It's okay." Falcon smiled, then suddenly jerked as a new sensation filled the void inside her head, the one the symbiote had previously occupied. It was strange, yet familiar and friendly. She gasped, surprised. Her radar had returned! She laughed, hugging herself and swinging back and forth while Spider-Man just stared at her as if she had fallen off her rocker. "Sorry, it's just...I've been blind for so long. And it's back now! I can feel everything again. I guess he was right. All this trouble with my powers...they were psychosomatic."

"Psychosomatic?" Spider-Man repeated with a look of confusion. He webbed the bag shut so the symbiote couldn't escape. It writhed inside, wanting to escape. "You mean, like, all in your head? I really hope it wasn't that easy, otherwise I think I would've lost my mind, too. But seriously, were you or were you _not_ going insane?"

"Um, maybe a little," Falcon winced, holding up her thumb and forefinger a little ways apart, then dropped her hand. She didn't really want to ruminate on the idea anymore. She was done with the matter. Falcon knew how to keep her emotions – and by proxy, her powers – in check now, and she wasn't going to let it happen again. "But it's over now. My powers are very much affected by my thoughts and emotions and I just had to find a, I don't know, a balance to keep it all working. Do you know what I mean?"

"Yeah, I think so," Spider-Man nodded slowly. Then he reached for something in his belt and approached her with something in his hand. A small vial filled with a pale yellow, translucent liquid. Falcon had never seen it before. "It's a gene-cleanser. I was going to give it to you if you couldn't control your powers. It would take them away, make you normal again. I had a theory that because your powers were making you sick, taking them away would make you better again. But I guess we'll never know. The offer is still there, if you want it."

Falcon stared at the vial for a moment, not quite believing it was so easy. She had gotten her powers from a little vial. Could the same thing take them away? It seemed almost too good to be true. But then Falcon remembered her promise to Bruce and gently pushed his hand away. "No, thanks. I suppose if things had gotten really bad, I would've let you, but I'm me again. And I know what I'm doing now. I can't leave all this behind me after I've made my choice."

She could hear the grin in Spidey's voice as he stuffed the vial back in his pocket. "Glad to hear that. You know, I never really took you for the mature type. You always just...bashed stuff in. Didn't you say you were going to back out of this life once you got what you wanted?"

They both knew what he was talking about. Falcon didn't know how much longer they were going to dance around the issue; pretending the elephant in the living room didn't exist. But it was always there, at the back of her mind, reminding Falcon that the boy she was talking to shared the same house with her. Was he hoping she might not remember? She decided to confront the issue later. They still had bigger fish to fry. "Let's just say I've had a change of heart. There are other people like me who need help, and I guess it's not fair to ignore them. Anyways, what are we going to do with _that_ thing?"

Falcon pointed at the bag still in Spider-Man's hand. He raised it up, examining it in a moment of consideration. "I think it should go to a place where it can never bother someone again. What about you?"

"Agreed."

OoOoO

After watching the bag full of symbiote sink into the hole filled with wet cement, we headed back home. I was more than relieved to slink back into my room and shed the outfit, finding something more comfortable in my bag. I still hadn't brought any of my old stuff from the apartment to Aunt May's house – I was still hanging on to the idea that someday, I could move back in with Mom, as normal as could be.

Today, I decided I really couldn't keep on living with only three pairs of jeans and an assortment of baggy t-shirts and hoodies. I also missed all my movie posters and DVD collection. I needed to refresh my memory on all my favorite scenes – there were entire chunks of dialogue I couldn't remember now. There was also my mother's handwritten cookbooks of all her successful experiments I wanted to salvage – even her scrappy book of notes would be something nice to have. Maybe I could even try them out sometime. Anything to bring myself closer to Mom.

Oh, and my Shakespeare essay due at the end of the semester. I hadn't worked on that in weeks. This time around, at least, I won't have to be afraid of saying what I _really_ think about Shakespeare's tragedies.

Peter seemed oddly avoidant about the matter of my apartment, and I had a bad feeling I might have done some damage while out of my mind. I hoped I didn't ruin _too_ much. I had just gotten excited to move on with my life, even just a little bit.

Spider-Man took a detour to the hospital to pick up Aunt May, but was back shortly later. I don't know why I hadn't called him on his cell phone to tell him she was already home – I laughed at the gaunt look on his face when I told him. Sometimes it was fun to just needle him.

We still hadn't talked about the issue yet. Peter went upstairs to convince himself that Aunt May was all right, before returning and leading me to the kitchen, to show what he had been working on for Thanksgiving dinner. I'll admit, I was expecting a disaster (Peter had the cooking ability of a toddler on a sugar rush), but the war zone I met before me really hammered home the fact that Peter needed to take a Home Economics class before he graduated.

"Not even the yams?" I asked, right before he pointed to the burnt and slightly melted vegetables on the cookie sheet. "How do you screw up _yams_?"  
Peter threw me a sheepish grin, scratching the back of his head and flushing. "I was, uh, hoping you'd help me out. I mean, your mom was a whiz in the kitchen and all, I'd hoped it would have rubbed off on you. Of course, it wouldn't have meant anything if you were still crazy..."

"Let's please stop using the 'c' word, kay?" I gave him a curt smile before going over to the stove and bringing it over to the trashcan. With a spatula, I scrapped off the inedible food. "And I was really only taste-tester to Mom's abilities, so you're gonna have to look online on how to cook a turkey. It might be too late now, though. Depending on the weight, it could take up to six hours or more...and it's almost dinner time."

"TV dinners, then?"

I threw him a scandalized look. Not even Peter was that white-trashy. Even though my mother scrounged for the ingredients for all her cooking experiments, there was not one year where we didn't at least have turkey and mashed potatoes. "Um, no."

"Maybe we can order it in?" Peter tried again, looking around as if a turkey, broiled and ready, would suddenly pop out of thin air. He looked pretty desperate for an answer. I could tell Peter didn't want to have a bad Thanksgiving dinner anymore than I did, and I smiled in sympathy. After all that's happened, it would be pretty hard to plan and make any event perfect. "Maybe Pat's Pizza can do us a favor..."

Just then, the doorbell rang. We exchanged looks of confusion, wondering who could be at the door if everyone was home. It couldn't be mail or the bank because both were closed today. My stomach twisted at the idea of Eddie Brock showing up, ready to start another fight. But how could he, if he didn't have the symbiote?

Turns out, it was none of those things. We reached the door together and stared when we saw the one and only Gwen Stacy and her dad on the other side: holding a giant turkey and various other Thanksgiving food. I could smell it all ready. Mm, cranberry sauce and turkey gravy. Delicious.

"Happy Thanksgiving! We thought you'd like some help," Captain Stacy said before we could ask what all of this was about. We stepped aside to let him and the giant turkey in his arms into the house. He seemed bashful and glanced at his daughter, "Gwen insisted. She gave me the Look."

I grinned, and was glad she returned it. I had never gotten the chance to say sorry to her, but from the way she hugged me (one-armed, because she was holding a tower of Tupperware in her other hand), I could tell we were going to be all right. "Thanks for the food. Peter kind of broke the kitchen."

"Hey!" he protested but Gwen just laughed.

"Yeah, I figured he might do something like that." Gwen just rolled her eyes as Peter helped her with the containers of food. He yelped and nearly dropped one just before she could tell him, "Wait, it's still hot!" and he held it at arm's length, sticking his burned fingers in his mouth. "Real smooth, Peter."

He made a quick exit, not willing to relish in the embarrassment. With me and Gwen alone in the living, she turned to be and frowned. "Jeez, Amy, you had me so scared. Back at the apartment, I wasn't sure what was going to happen. I was afraid you'd be sent to an asylum or something. Are you okay now?"

"Yeah, I had some help working things through," I nodded, deciding not to divulge in who helped me. Gwen may ask, but Bruce had trusted me to keep his secret – although I wasn't entirely sure what that was. Just that people were after him and no one was supposed to know he was in the city. You know, just regular fugitive-from-the-law stuff. Just thinking about it made me want to watch that Harrison Ford movie again. "But, I mean, it's just a psychotic break. No biggie."

Gwen wasn't as amused by my attempt to blow it off. She shook her head, making a tsking noise. "I swear to God, if you try to blow off another one of these things again...It's like you don't know how serious these things are, Amy. I was really worried about you! Have you _looked_ in the mirror lately? You don't exactly look like a healthy human being."

I knew what she was talking about and sighed, trying to hold back the wave of guilt. I had seen my reflection in the bathroom today and nearly jumped through the ceiling. I had dark circles under my eyes, so dark they might be bruises. My eyes had been red, but that went away after getting a nice nap. My hair was still messy, so bad that even a brush couldn't bring it back to normal, so I had to hide it with a pony tail. "Sorry. It's just...I don't remember too much about what happened, and to be honest, I don't think I want to. Is it okay if we just... move on?"

She smiled and readjusted her glasses, appeased that I wasn't joking anymore. She gave me one of the Tupperware boxes and we started to head towards the kitchen, "Okay. I don't blame you. But do you really not remember a thing? Not the music you were humming, or the box of secrets you were talking about? You said something about a circus."

"A little." I did, in fact, remember those things, but had put them out of my mind for the time being. I hadn't heard the music since my radar came back and I was perfectly fine with the change. It had been getting on my nerves, anyways. And the picture? Well, I just had to wait and see if that ever showed up again. "The music I remembered. It's gone now, thank gosh. But I think it's all over, you know? I've never felt better in my life."

"Good," Gwen heaved a sigh of relief, closing her eyes to cherish the moment. She almost ran into the wall before I pulled her away. "You were really serious about those hallucinations, I was scared they would never go away."

"Hallucinations?" Okay, so the music thing might have been in my head, but the picture? That was very real. But that would open a whole can of worms that I had already promised to leave untouched. I decided to go with the theory – keep everything in a nice little box so Gwen would be happy. "Yeah, I guess that's what they were, huh?"

"It was pretty intense," Gwen replied. In the kitchen she set the Tupperware on the table and opened the lids, letting out the steam. I joined her, helping set up the table. Peter was clearing out room on the kitchen counter for a place for the turkey. He chatted with Captain Stacy, holding up most of the conversation. The police chief was always short with his words. And it seemed as though the doctor with Aunt May would be joining us for dinner as well. Six people were a lot more than I usually ate with in any given meal, much less Thanksgiving. It was a nice change, for once. "I kind...I kind of thought it had something to do with your dad?"

My head shot up, looking at her with a very much bewildered expression on my face. That was not what I expected to come out of her mouth. I had no idea how my actions would have led her to that conclusion. I mean, seriously, my _dad_? I could care less. "Really? What gave you that idea?"

"I don't know," Gwen shrugged, more to herself than me, really. She kept her gaze firmly on the table, apparently embarrassed she had arrived to the wrong conclusion. She fiddled with a fork, saying, "I just...it's something you never talk about. Like a topic you specifically avoid. I'm not saying I know what's going on in your head, I was...I wondered if that might have been a part of your...problems."

I hadn't really thought of it that way. There were so many more obvious reasons in my personal life that it never came up, but since Gwen wasn't privy to all my little secrets, I could understand why she would go to the more obvious one she knew about. "I see. But...but no. I don't think he had anything to do with it. Hey, Pete, you wanna get Aunt May or should I?"

Gwen shot me a Look. I didn't understand why until I realized what I did a second later. Wow, she wasn't kidding. I really _didn't_ want to talk about my dad. Huh. And I thought I was just concerned for my aunt. My subconscious must be trying to say something and I wanted it to shut up.

But Gwen didn't bring up the subject again. I was thankful for that (but left it out when we went around with our own shares of gratitude), because it just made things a little too awkward. I didn't know enough for it to be a useful conversation, but what I _did_ know would make it awkward. A summer fling my mother had when she was eighteen. She dropped out of high school and moved to the Big Apple to start over with her kid. Never got a degree and had struggled for years to stay on top of everything, with no help at all from her baby daddy, who conveniently disappeared after she discovered she was pregnant. It wasn't a stretch of the imagination to wonder what I thought of him. He was one person I was _not_ thankful for.

Thanksgiving went even better than I expected. After that huge expense of energy fighting off the symbiote and several days not exactly eating well, I piled my plate high with as much as I could reach. Turkey, gravy, mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce, turkey stuffing, bread and some pie – I ate enough calories to keep a baby rhino going for days. My metabolism would kick in soon enough, getting all the nutrients where they needed to go, but for now my belly bulged and I couldn't be happier. Everyone talked and laughed and I nearly choked on my turkey when Aunt May announced the publishing of her cook book. I didn't even know she was _writing_ one. Well, I didn't know a lot of things that happened in my family, but I guess I had a pretty good excuse.

And people kept asking if Gwen was all right. I knew my situation was kept on the down low, so I didn't expect any, but I had no idea why she was getting them. I kept staring between Peter and the doctor and Aunt May, who continued giving Gwen looks of concern as if she might fall over at any moment. "Wait, what happened? What did I miss?"

But Gwen just shrugged like it was no big deal. "Just some mild post traumatic stress disorder. You know, from the parade? I was tied up by this crazy monster and then I fell – but Spider-Man saved me. I thought you knew?" she gave me a look like it was strange I wasn't up on the biggest news as of late. Then it must've dawned on her that, as far as she knew, I wasn't anywhere near the parade. "Oh...right, I forgot. Sorry, I guess I should've said something earlier. You were somewhere else."

I had been, but I guess I showed up too late. I threw Peter a look, frustrated that he hadn't said anything about my best friend's life being in mortal danger. He just shrugged, eyebrows rising like he was surprised I was angry at _him_, of all people; like it hadn't been a big deal at the time. I suppose it could've been worse, and he would've told me if something bad had resulted.

But Gwen just smiled at me, clearly not understanding how much I was freaking out right now. "It's, like, on six channels. The media couldn't get enough of a superhero showing up at a parade. They thought it was a show."

Peter snorted into his mashed potatoes. I rolled my eyes. Well, at least there was _something_ in this world I could count on.

Later that evening, we ended up cleaning the dishes together. Since Peter made most of the mess, I let him get started while I sat on the table and watched. Aunt May went to the living room to rest – no one wanted her to work after her heart attack, and she kept our guests busy with small talk and coffee. Which was perfect, because I had to talk to Peter alone.

"You know, it wouldn't hurt to lend a hand," Peter said, throwing her a look over his shoulder as he scrubbed a worn sponge over a pot lined with burnt mashed potatoes. He raised an eyebrow at me. "Or a _thought_."

I tilted my head, smirking. "Oh, _now_ you mention it, just when you need help with the chores. You know, I never needed them for mine, Webhead."

He chuckled, turning back around to scrape off a particularly stubborn stain. There was a stretch of silence and I wondered if he was thinking about something to say or waiting for me to get to the point. Eventually, Peter said, "I can't believe it was you the entire time. I mean, maybe it should've been obvious after the thing at Brooklyn Labs – you were acting really weird about Gray Matter and I had no idea why that lady would talk to _you_ about it. It didn't make much sense until after I found out. That's what it is, right? It turned you into..."

"A super soldier?" I asked, finishing the sentence Pete couldn't seem to manage. I sat back, placing my hands behind me and looked up at the ceiling. "I guess that was the idea for it, but it never really worked for any of the test subjects. You know I'm the first one who's ever survived the injection?"

"Really?" Peter asked, sounding surprised. He dumped the cleaned pot into the other sink filled with water, picking up a cookie sheet next. That still had leftover yams on it. "Well, I guess I knew that, too. But why you? How're you different from the rest? Was it because you were a teenager?"

I shrugged but since he couldn't see it, I replied, "I don't really know. It could've been luck, but I think it was the way I handled my powers. Remember that time when I got really sick, with that ugly rash? That was from the exposure, the initial reaction. Apparently that was what killed the most guinea pigs, but afterwards...it was the powers. They didn't know how to control them. They thought they were just fun to play with."

"They had no responsibility," Peter said, gazing up and out the window with a distant look in his eyes. He was quiet for a moment, then returned back to his scrubbing. "Yeah, not that surprised, actually. It's like playing with fire. Or nuclear explosives. I can't believe the scientists did nothing to stop it from happening."

"Yeah, but I don't think those scientists knew what they were doing," I said, shaking my head to myself. I didn't know much on the matter, but it certainly said something if the guys running the project chose not to get involved even though things was clearly going bad. "They were probably just observing what happened, let the subjects figured things out themselves. I guess someone forgot to tell the test subjects that."

"Shame," Peter shook his head, as if the idea of the Gray Matter being a success would have been a good thing. I wasn't so sure. One of me was more than I – or the city – could handle at any given time. "Who knows what might have happened if those guys made it through? Maybe there would have been more heroes out there."

"Or mindless soldiers working for the government," I don't know why that dark thought just came out of my mouth, but it wasn't a far-fetched one. They certainly kept the project under tight wraps. Who knew what else they were doing? "I bet that's who raided Brooklyn labs and erased the existence of everyone who worked there."

"Well, they sure had a fast reaction time," Peter said, sounding a little doubtful, then after a moment, excited. He turned to me and waved a soapy sponge in the air, sending bubbles and suds across the floor. "And they sure were prepared. Something must've alerted them. What about project Uncle Sam did they not want us to know? You'd think they'd be concerned that someone might have actually made it through or not."

"Yeah, but I wasn't a part of the experiment," I threw back. Whatever the government was after, they were doing a good job. I could only hope they still had no clue who I was or what I could do. What would they do if they knew I had survived? Kill me? Assimilate me? I highly doubted they would let me continue to live my normal life. "I didn't sign a contract, no promise of secrecy. I could just shout out to the world right now what they had been doing. I bet others are doing the same thing right now. Dr. Pigott did. He invented those wings, he helped make the project – then sold it to the White Rose, who were equally interested."

"The White Rose wants super soldiers?" Peter frowned, disturbed by the idea. He squeezed the sponge, letting soap and water drip into the sink. "They must be planning something. Something big. I don't think the idea of them taking over the city is a joke anymore, do you?"

"No," I shook my head, staring at my shoes. It had crossed my mind earlier. The White Rose had plenty of men, plenty of guns, and plenty of money. But super soldiers on top of it all, with various powers and abilities? That was a step higher than most mobs would take to get what they wanted. "It's like they're building an army. But I just don't see how they can get away with taking over New York. It's so big. And the government so much bigger."

Peter looked grim, not at all pleased with the idea that someday, the White Rose might initiate a hostile takeover and ruin everyone's lives. He returned to the dishes, scrubbing with new and sudden vigor. "I'm sure they'll think of something. And they'll still have us to worry about."

"True," I smiled to myself, amused at the idea that the White Rose really had no idea what they were in for. I had been holding back, I had been scared. Now, I knew what I was doing and they weren't going to stand a chance. "They may not act like it, but they're afraid of us. They're afraid of what just two people can do to their organization. To _every_ underground organization."

Another stretch of silence. Peter seemed lost in his own thoughts again, keeping quiet about his opinions. I looked around, distracted by the moment. Had I still been living my normal life, before anything bad happened, I would probably be with Mom right now, watching Thanksgiving specials on the couch. She loved holidays – she had an excuse to go all out for food, not having to worry if it was for the occasion or not. We usually had tons of leftovers that would last for days, even weeks. Christmas was even better.

"This is the first Thanksgiving without Mom," I said, completely offhand. I hadn't even realized I said it until Peter responded in kind.

"And Uncle Ben,"

I studied the back of his head, frowning. Something had occurred to me. "He's the reason you're out there, isn't it, Peter?"

He gave a short laugh. "It took you that long to figure it out? I knew you were upset about your mom – it made sense right after I knew who you really were."

My frown deepened, not exactly as amused as he was. I remembered something he told me a while ago, something I hadn't really thought deeper about until now. "With great power comes great responsibility. I never really understood what that meant...I never got why you did what you did. But it all makes sense now. You were never in it for revenge."

"Oh, I was at first," Peter replied quickly, just when I thought he was going to rub in my face how much better a hero he was than me. "Trust me, Amy, I know why you were so angry and all you cared about was just getting your Mom back. And for a while, that was me, too. But I realized that wasn't what Uncle Ben wanted, whether or not he knew about my powers. I only cared about myself while I should've been solving the problem that got him killed in the first place. It was my fault, anyways."

I had never heard him say that. I didn't even know Peter thought himself the reason why Uncle Ben died. It threw me for a loop, but for some reason I didn't question it. I didn't ask why, the same reason he didn't ask me about my mother. Whatever the circumstances were, we felt responsible and guilty, and sought out a way to make ourselves feel better, somehow. Although, revenge probably wasn't the best answer for either of us.

"You thought about using the gene-cleanser for yourself, didn't you?" I guessed after a while. Peter had never said anything of the sort, but looking back on it, I wouldn't have been surprised if he ever considered it.

"That obvious, huh?" Peter smiled, then withdrew the vial and its yellow liquid from his pocket. He studied it for a moment. I wondered why he kept it on him.  
"Yeah, I thought about it. And I thought how many problems it would solve. I wouldn't have to deal with the consequences of being Spider-Man all the time. But I made a promise to Uncle Ben – if I went back to normal, I'd be shirking my responsibilities. I'd be looking for the easy way out. But that's not who I am. Spider-Man is a part of me, and I'm not ready to back down just yet."

He uncorked the vial and tipped it over into the empty sink. It would've been a really great cinematic moment and I was almost awed by the scene – that is, until the sink started to bubble and overflow and Peter jumped back, surprised. He cranked up the water, trying to wash down the bubbling gene-cleanser before it could make another mess. "Aw, man! It's not funny!"

It didn't matter how much he complained. I was on the floor, laughing so hard I cried.


	33. Chapter 33: Revelation

**Last chapter! Please read the Author's note at the end for further information about this fanfic. You might like what you read :) Enjoy!**

**And seriously, all reviews are appreciated.**

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**Chapter Thirty Three**

**Revelation**

At about 2 A.M. that night, the phone rang.

I shot out of bed so fast I nearly hit my head on the bedside table. I didn't want it waking up anyone else in the house. I scrambled for the phone with so much carelessness that I accidentally knocked the dock to the floor. Toppling out of bed, I was a mess of blankets and hair when I pressed the button and brought the phone to my ear. I panted, excited and exhausted at the same time, "H-hello?"

"Amy!" it was Gwen, practically shouting on the other end. "Amy, you're not going to believe it! You were right! It _does_ exist!"

"I'm not going to believe I'm right?" I frowned, rubbing at my eyes. My brain was still a little rattled from the volume of her voice. The light from the clock burned into my eyes and I pressed my hand into my face, begging for patience. This was _so_ not the time to be having epiphanies. "Couldn't this wait until morning? This better not be about you kissing Peter, because I _so_ do not want to hear about that right now."

"What, no! Wait, you saw that and didn't say anything?" Gwen sounded offended. I had to hide my snickers behind my hand. I had fake-puked when Peter got back in the house and he just scowled at me and locked himself up in his room. She was too quick to move on from the subject. "Oh, never mind, that's not what I want to talk about anyways. Besides, you'd hate me if I didn't tell you immediately what I just found, once you knew what it was."

She took a deep breath in preparation for a lengthy explanation, and I had to wonder just how incredible her discovery was. "See, a noise woke me up about a couple minutes ago. I thought maybe it was the wind and I forgot to lock my window, so I turn on my light, and I see – this!"

There was a pause, as if I could telepathically see what Gwen was seeing right now. "Um, Gwen, we're still on phones."

"Oh, right, ha-ha," she giggled nervously, still high from her excitement. I could hear the faint tinkling of her glasses brushing against the phone receiver. She always fiddled with her lenses when she was anxious. "I forgot. It's a picture. It was taped to the inside of my window. I don't know who put it there or how they got inside, but there's something weirder: it looks exactly like the thing you described when you were hallucinating. You weren't crazy after all!"

"Wow, thank you for that vote of confidence," I muttered, deciding it didn't matter whether or not she heard me. My radar was giving me a headache – I still hadn't gotten used to its return. "And please, enough with the 'c' word. Just remind me again, what did I hallucinate?"

"A picture – your mom, a boy, and a circus." Gwen told me, and slowly the images came back to me. They were vague and blurry, but I remembered: two kids, our age; the boy with blond hair had his arm around a younger version of my mother. They were both grinning happily. I couldn't recall how the circus part came in, but Gwen quickly filled me in, "There's a bright multi-colored tent in the background, and a Ferris Wheel. It doesn't look like Coney Island, more like some wheat fields. But that's not the strangest part!"

I had to admit, my quota for 'Strange' had been filled up for the day, so I wasn't prepared for it to be overloaded with more big news. I expected it to be bad. "Oh, god, what is it?"

"On the back of the photo, there are two red circles, one over the girl's head and one over the boy's head," Gwen told me, and I felt a cold feeling go down in my stomach. This didn't feel right. It belonged in a horror movie. "And in written letters, someone wrote, 'She's the bait, he's the prey.' It's signed by the letter 'S', but I have no idea who that could be. Do you?"

"No idea," I said, then bit my lip and hid a grin. Well, son of gun. So, Smoke came through after all. Of course, he wouldn't give it to me, he'd give it to the daughter of the Chief of Police. He must've seen her in the apartment in Hell's Kitchen. How else would he know who Gwen is? "But that's seriously creepy. I mean, it almost sounds like..."

"Like someone took your mom," Gwen continued, finishing my sentence without pause. As she continued, horror dawned in her voice the same it did in me. "To get _this guy_. He's the one that the – the White Rose is after."

"Someone my mother hasn't seen since she was a teenager," I murmured.

"We should tell my dad, he'll know what to do," Gwen said, sounding urgent. I could hear scratching and rustling on the other side, Gwen moving from her spot and going somewhere else. Probably to wake up her father. "This is big – a break in your case! Maybe we can find the guy and –"

"No, wait!" I said, nearly jumping on the bed as if I could just reach out and stop her myself. She couldn't tell her father – just the fact that it showed up on _Gwen's_ window was creepy enough, and would raise questions that I'd rather not get asked. "I have to see it first. I have to know what it really looks like. Please?"

There came a sigh and a halt in the movement. She seemed to be debilitating whether or not this was important enough to listen to me. Gwen eventually said, "Oh, fine. But it's really weird, I know I've never seen this guy in the picture before, but he looks kind of familiar. In fact – he kind of looks like...you, Amy. He looks like you."

I almost dropped the phone. "You're not serious."

"No, I am! Same hair, same eyes, same – same jaw, even!" Gwen persisted. I could imagine her shaking her head and adjusting her glasses at this moment. But then she said, "But if that means what I think it means...then the White Rose...no..."

"What?" I demanded when she didn't continue right away. What was she thinking? What was she _seeing_ in that boy? I had to know.

There was a pause. I heard Gwen take a deep breath.

"Amy, I think the White Rose is after your father."

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**And roll credits! LOL, anyways, if you want a complete experience, I suggest listening to the song Through Glass by Stone Sour - that would be the credits song if this were a movie or show. I think it fits the atmosphere quite nicely :) If you personally think there's a better song, I'd love to know. **

**Thank you for reading Falcon and sticking out all the long weeks, months and years it took to get this blasted story finished. I love all the support I received, and every once and a while I get embarrassed knowing that some of you really like Falcon as a hero. Thank you again, for all the follows, favorites, and reviews!  
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** And since some of you have been asking for a sequel, I'm already working on it. Please look out for a new story to come out in the near future - with the working title of ****Falcon: Sub Rosa**** or ****Falcon: War of the Roses.**** I haven't decided which one I'll use, but they're both important to the next arc! If you have any ideas about what you want to see in a sequel, feel free to comment or PM me. The story will coincide with season 2 of Spectacular Spider-Man. See you then! Ciao!**


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